


the Unworthy

by Celtic_Bard



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Braavos, Canon-Typical Violence, Conquest of Dorne, Essos, Gen, House Targaryen, Lys (ASoIaF), Sellsword Companies, Targaryen Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Bard/pseuds/Celtic_Bard
Summary: AU. Aegon was not always the Unworthy. He was once a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew and a husband. For want of a nail, the war was lost and for want of a chance discovery, Aegon's whole story is changed.Where he was once the worst King to have ever sat the Iron Throne, events conspire to make him its greatest Champion. But where a man rises, others look upon with jealousy and yet others plot his immediate downfall.Aegon must rise above all these perils and prove himself worthy of the name Taragryen. Or die trying.
Relationships: Aegon III Targaryen/Daenaera Velaryon, Aemon "The Dragonknight" Targaryen/Naerys Targaryen, Daena Targaryen/Daeron I Targaryen, Larra Rogare/Viserys II Targaryen
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	1. Aegon

"No."

"What did you just say?", Viserys asked. His tone was light, but it had an unmistakable undercurrent of anger to it.

"I said, no. I will not be marrying Naerys. I don't see why I should." Aegon replied. He was almost as angry as Viserys was and he did not do as much of a good job at hiding it. He held up a hand as Viserys opened his mouth to reply and continued on with his diatribe.

"Do not speak of any duty I have to the family. That is all that you speak of. Duty this, duty that. Well, know this father. I do not care. I do not want anything to do with this so-called duty that I have to my family. I wish to live my life as I see fit."

"Enough." Viserys's voice but low but it was hard and unyielding. He had already made up his mind on the matter and did not look like he would budge from his position.

"You have made the same argument with little variation over the past year. It is high time you left this childishness behind you and proceed with your marriage. You are already older than I was when I married your mother. By your age, I was already married to your mother for six years."

"Yes, but one can hardly hold up your own marriage to mother as an example of what marriage ought to be. After all, she left you, didn't she?" Aegon retorted making Viserys twitch in annoyance.

Aegon stood up from the chair he was sitting on and made to walk away, but Viserys was faster. He reached over the table and grabbed hold of Aegon's arm forced him to sit back down.

"Sit down. Your emotions are out of control. Calm yourself and listen to me. Have some wine," Viserys said.

He got up from his chair and walked around to a smaller table on which a decanter and a few glasses were placed. He waved away a servant who started forward to serve them and poured the drink into two goblets himself, taking one and handing the other to Aegon.

Aegon, who had calmed down by now, took the goblet from his father's hand and took a small sip.

As he was sipping on his wine, he looked around the room. His father's solar had changed little from when he was in it last, a few months ago. It was still full of Targaryen heraldry and he still had that awful tapestry of Aegon the Conqueror upon Balerion hung on the wall behind his desk. What his father even liked in that eye-sore Aegon would never know.

Until a few moons ago, all he had to worry about was how to get away from the Red Keep and meet Falena in secret. Now, he had to contend with his father, who was always hounding him day-in, day-out about marriage to his sister.

As if he would actually marry her. She was the exact opposite of what Aegon wanted. Neither was she beautiful nor was she particularly witty. Naerys did not have the beauty that their mother and grandmother were said to have but she wasn't particularly ugly either. She was just plain. What was he supposed to do with someone like that? And she was not particularly intelligent either, almost always preferring to study her damned books to anything else.

Aegon felt that she was too average for someone like him.

Besides, he loved Falena and he intended to marry her as soon as he was able to. In fact, since his father brought up the issue of marriage anyway, he decided to tell him his own thoughts on the matter.

"Father, there is something I have been meaning to tell you for some time. It has to do with my marriage." Aegon started.

"Oh, you are willing to reconsider your foolishness, then," Viserys asked.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, well, I do want to get married, but not to Naerys. There is someone else. Someone who I love." Aegon replied.

Viserys's expression changed and Aegon suddenly realized he had made a mistake. He should not have spoken of this matter to his father. Steeling himself, he pressed on.

"It is Falena Stokeworth father. Bernarr Stokeworth's daughter. We love each other, you see. And I wish to marry her," Aegon declared. Immediately Aegon cringed. He could have worded that better. Now he felt like one of those maidens from Elaena's stories.

Viserys glowered at him. "And you boast of being a man. Is this the sort of man you've become? Getting trapped by the feminine wiles of the third daughter of a second son? It is clear you are still a child. Did you sleep with her too?"

Aegon stayed silent. That was all the confirmation his father needed.

"Get out. And do not try to meet her again. I must speak with my brother and see a way to put your mistake to rights." Viserys seemed furious and Aegon was not so much of a fool as to risk his father's wrath in such a state.

Aegon ran away from his father's solar, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He had to find his uncle before his father did and explain the situation to him. He was sure his uncle would support him.

* * *

Aegon ran all the way to his uncle's chambers. They were within Maegor's holdfast and he had to run all the way from the Tower of the Hand. When he reached the royal apartments he was sweating profusely and panting hard.

Two knights of the Kingsguard stood outside the door leading into the apartments. Aegon marched up to them and demanded to be let in.

"I apologize, my prince, but His grace was adamant that he would not be disturbed. He is deep in his contemplations and he asked for no one to be let in. Not even the Lord Hand or Her Grace, the Queen," one of the knights replied.

Aegon was getting frustrated and was about to demand that they allow him inside once more when he saw the door open behind the knights. A servant poked his head out.

"His Grace bids Prince Aegon come inside," he said.

With a triumphant look on his face, Aegon barged past the knights and entered his royal uncle's apartments. Unlike his father's solar, his uncle's apartments were bare save for a single tapestry showing the Targaryen heraldry on a far wall. The window drapes were drawn shut and despite candles being lit, the room appeared dull and gloomy.

The servant ushered Aegon into an antechamber of sorts where Aegon plopped down on a cushion to wait for his uncle's arrival. His uncle came from inside his personal solar and sat across from Aegon.

"Tell me, nephew. Why have you come to me? Is it a matter which concerns the realm? Or is it something personal perhaps? You should ask my brother for any of your needs. I have charged him to ensure that the children are well cared for," the King said.

"The problem is because of my father, uncle. He wants me to marry Naerys. But I love another. And I wish to marry her," Aegon replied.

"Is that so? I shall consult with my brother, your father, on this matter. You have my word that I will be just in dealing with this issue," the King said.

"But, uncle…" Aegon whined.

"Leave me now. You have my word. Go to the yard and spar with your brother. Warrior's day is upon us and your father wishes for you to take part in the squires' melee. He wishes for you to win it and bring glory to House Targaryen." The King had a wry twist of lips as if he found the whole matter ridiculous. Aegon stood up to go but still dithered unsure of what to say.

The King appeared to become irritated and spoke, "Will you go now or shall I send Sandoq with you too? Perhaps he will be able to aid you with your training in the yard."

It was only then that Aegon noticed the tall form of Sandoq the Shadow, standing still in the shadows. He took a step forward on hearing his name spoken and Aegon's heart leapt to his throat. In spite of the veil over his face, Aegon found Sandoq frightening. Aegon beat a hasty retreat from the royal apartments.

As he was walking away, he turned towards his brother's rooms. Aemon would either be there or in the yard already. He would be preparing for the melee too. Yes, whacking his brother about would help raise Aegon's spirits. He could feel his mood lightening already. Things were going to be fine. He could feel it. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set around 152 AC. A main Point Of Divergence is that Aegon and Falena haven't been discovered by Viserys yet and he is able to continue his 'relationship' with her with interesting consequences. Any feedback is appreciated.


	2. Viserys

_**The Hand of the King** _

Viserys sat back in his chair and watched his son as he stormed out his solar. Aegon was always very wilful, but he never thought his son would be entirely devoid of sense. To be taken in by such a woman and to have slept with her too. Utter idiocy.

Did he not realize that her father would now come to the Red Keep, seeking recompense for his daughter's lost honour? And he would also spout nonsense about wedding Aegon to his daughter to reclaim her honour or some such.

He had seen such people in the long years past. People who only looked out for their own interests with nary a care for the good of the realm. He had dealt with many such people since his appointment as the Hand and he knew exactly how to deal with them.

Viserys looked out of the window and noticed that the sun had risen almost to its zenith. He called for a page and instructed the lad to send word to the members of the Small Council to meet him in the Small Council chamber.

As Viserys walked to the Small Council chambers he thought about the upcoming festival and celebrations for Warrior's Day. His brother had simply declared that the smallfolk 'have full bellies and be merry' and recused himself from the matter.

However, things were not so simple and most of the lords of the Crownlands were coming to King's Landing to take part in the festivities. There was but a moon's turn worth of time left and quite a lot of work to do.

Viserys reached the meeting Hall but did not take a seat. He was the first to arrive and would be so for quite a while. Viserys walked over to the sphinxes that flanked the doors and put his hand over one's head, tracing the design.

He thought of what he could do with regards to Aegon's problem. The girl had to be sent away, that much was obvious. But she was not some smallfolk that he could simply send men to scare away. She was of noble birth, no matter how ignoble her own house was. Viserys's lip curled as he thought about the Stokeworths, upjumped and grasping, the whole lot of them.

Perhaps, he could marry her off to some knight in their service. Or a landed knight. Or even a hedge knight. Stokeworths married lower that that too if he remembered correctly. They even married off their daughters to merchants.

While Viserys was lost in thought near the entrance of the chamber, the members of the Small Council started to trickle in one by one until the room was full. Viserys nodded his head in greeting as each one came in and when the final member was inside he ordered as servant to close the doors and turned to face them.

He saw the Grandmaester, Munkun seated in his chair already, slouching rather, due to his old age. Viserys feared that the Grandmaester had not much time left and the Citadel had already sent a replacement,a Maester Alford who stood behind the Grandmaester presently, ready to help his superior.

Standing next to the Grandmaester was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Raynard Ruskin. He had served his King ably after his rise to the position following the Lysene Spring but Viserys noticed that he was getting on with the years with his hair being more white that black.

Then there was the ever reliable Alyn Velaryon, or the Oakenfist, as he was being called now. For a bastard he had risen high and was now the Master of Ships, a position that was slowly becoming traditionally a Velaryon one. His brother, the King, did not fully trust Velaryon but Viserys had no such qualms. Anyone who defied Unwin Peake during the regency for his brother's sake was accorded some measure of trust. And he was family after all, having married Viserys's half-sister, the lady Baela.

Next to Alyn Velaryon stood the Master of Laws, Lord Benjicot Blackwood. While both the Oakenfist and Bloody Ben had fought together during the succession crisis in the Vale, they quarreled in the Small Council more often than not. Benjicot Blackwood had been appointed to the Small Council only a few years past on Viserys's insistence, for it would not do for the crown to forget it's allies during the Dance.

The Master of Whispers was running late but Viserys would rather begin the session without him. He never had anything substantial to say and if any news he had was important enough to disrupt the session, he would have enough discretion to do so.

"Sit down, my lords. We have much to discuss. Grandmaester, have you any news from Lord Arryn? What of the special tithe he was sent to collect?" Viserys asked.

The Grandmaster took a moment to collect himself and spoke, "My Lord Hand, the most recent missive from Lord Arryn placed him past Stonedance and he estimates to be within the Kingswood in a day. He says that beyond the expected protestations most of the lords paid the tithe with minimal fuss and the presence of a King's representative managed to loosen their purse strings."

"He is past Stonedance, but needs one day to get to the Kingswood? What, is he walking or crawling about?" Benijicot Blackwwod scoffed at the Master of Coin's apparently leisurely pace.

Alyn Velaryon was no less quick to the draw. "Isembard Arryn is an old man and he needs to be carried in a litter. If you'd paid any attention to matters such as these, you would have had a better understanding of the matter. As it stands, do not speak of things you know little of," he retorted.

Benjicot Blackwood's face reddened and he stood up a hand on the hilt of his sword and a ready retort on his lips. Alyn Velaryon, not one to be outdone, rose with equal fury. Just as it seemed that they would get to blows, Viserys stepped between them.

"Settle down, friends. Let us not quarrel. We have more pressing issues to attend to. Like the tourney the King wants to be held on the occasion of Warrior's Day. Tell me, Lord Blackwood, have you instructed the City Watch on what their duties entail? The must keep the peace. It should be a day of celebration and piety, not one of violence."

Both Blackwood and Velaryon sat down glaring at each other. The Lord Blackwood replied to Viserys.

"As you know, my lord Hand, the city watch is utterly corrupt, taking bribes from merchants and lordlings to turn a blind eye to criminal activities in the City. Ever since my arrival in the past year, I have worked tirelessly to root out this corruption and ensure that the city is safe for the people in it."

"Replacing the men of the Watch with your own men, you mean," Lord Velaryon muttered under his breath. Benjicot Blackwood looked ready to argue further but Viserys spoke up.

"Lord Velaryon, if you have nothing useful to add, I must ask you to hold your peace," Viserys said.

Grandmaester Munkun, seemingly lost in his thoughts until now, spoke up. "My Lord Hand, as you can see from Lord Arryn's letter, the presence of a King's representative is enough to push the Crownlords into action. Imagine the consequences if the King himself were to go on a royal progress. He need not even go outside the Crownlands. A distant ruler does not endear himself to his subjects, my lord. Already there are rumours in the Crownlands about the King not caring about the realm."

Viserys, ambivalent about the matter of a royal progress, suddenly got vexed at the thought of such rumours about his brother. After everything his brother had done to ensure that the smallfolk did not go hungry after the Dance, they had to gall to think that he did not care about them. He turned on the Grandmaester.

"Who is it that has been speaking such treasons? And why have I not been told of this sooner?" he demanded.

"It is the smallfolk, my lord. They speak many things. I only wished to inform you of the word going round the city. I still maintain that a royal progress would do no harm and only good, my lord," Munkun replied.

Viserys was about to retort when the doors of the Small Council chamber burst open and Ser Robert Darklyn, the Master of Whispers, strode in. For a former Kingsguard, Viserys noticed, he had really let himself go. While he walked as if he was still stout and strong of arm, his muscle had mostly turned to flab and he was heavily balding. He looked excited about something and that did not bode well. He was rarely excited and that too only when he had bad news to deliver.

'My lords! Have you any news of Lord Arryn?" he inquired the Small Council.

"It is obvious that you know something we don't so get on with it. We have no time for your mummery," Lord Blackwood said.

"Well! Since all of you are excited about it, I suppose I must tell it to you right away. He is dead. Or murdered rather. Him and his party." Ser Darklyn looked triumphant as he relayed this news and Viserys gaped at the man. How could someone murder the Master of Coin while on King's business and while travelling with his guards? He enquired as such to Ser Darklyn.

"It was bandits, my lord hand. He was carrying all of the collected tithes with him as he travelled and he must have made for a very tempting target. Why, he even had only twenty men with him as his guards and three knights. Even then, he was murdered." Ser Darklyn looked to be settling down, having delivered his news, and took on a more placid expression and sat down in his seat.

"And who are these bandits? Where are they operating from? How many are there?" Viserys asked the Master of Whispers.

Ser Darklyn shrugged. "Only one thing is obvious, my lord Hand. These bandits are the remnants of the Dance and the Hour of the Wolf. They have been preying on many villages in the Crownlands but the local lords have not brought this matter to our attention because they believed that they could handle this problem. Which they have just proven incapable of."

Viserys stood up. "This must not be allowed to continue, my lords. I shall speak with the King myself and get his assent to send men to root out this problem. Lord Commander, you are to prepare a group of knights and men-at-arms to face these bandits in the Kingswood. The Master of Whispers shall provide you with the number of bandits at his earliest convenience."

Ser Robert Darklyn nodded his assent while the Lord Commander bowed with a mutter of 'I live to serve, my lord.'

Viserys nodded at both of them. "If that is all, my lords, I believe that we should adjourn for now. I have much to speak of with the King."

The members of the Small Council nodded their assent and shuffled out of the room with Grandmaester Munkun trailing behind walking slowly. Viserys too made his way from the Small Council chamber and to the royal apartments. He needed to speak with his brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback


	3. Aegon the Third

_**The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.** _

Aegon watched dispassionately as his nephew rushed out of his chambers, no doubt afraid of the imposing figure cut by his Shield, Sandoq.

Thinking of Sandoq brought back memories for him. Memories of an easier time, when his enemies were dead and he only had to worry about Unwin Peake's plots. The few years between his ascension to the Throne and the end of his regency were still imprinted on his mind as if it were only yesterday.

And he still saw his mother eaten by Uncle's dragon every time he slept.

Aegon should have done something about it, but he had stood by, like an idiot, while his mother had been roasted and eaten. He should have begged or pleaded or even tried to rush his uncle, to distract him and give his mother a chance to escape. But he had done nothing.

And in his dreams, his mother blamed him for it. Blamed him for standing by and allowing her to die.

Aegon shook his head as if the physical motion would get rid of these thoughts. His brother would always tell him that he was not to blame and that the fault lay with their usurping uncle. But his mother's face as she died screaming was seared onto Aegon's memory and he always felt guilty for it.

His brother was the only help he had ever wanted and the only help he was willing to admit. He would never trust anyone else. His brother had been with him, at the Battle of the Gullet, as it had come to be known. He had run away in fear and left his brother behind with the Lysene. And yet, his brother loved him. For this love alone, Aegon would never refuse his brother anything.

Lost as he was in his musings of the past, Aegon did not notice a servant enter his chambers until she was close to him. He fixed his eye upon her and made a gesture of interrogation. Aegon never liked the servants at the Red Keep. They had just as easily sold out his mother as they had poisoned his uncle and he preferred not to interact with them unless absolutely necessary.

The servant bowed and said, "The Hand waits outside, your grace."

"Very well. Ask for him to be sent in and direct him to me," Aegon ordered.

The servant bowed and left. Soon, she returned with his brother in tow who took a seat opposite him.

"Your son came to see me some time ago. He spoke of some woman he loved but did not deign to tell me her name. Did he speak to you of this?" Aegon asked Viserys.

Viserys grimaced, distaste clearly visible on his face and Aegon took that to mean his brother was opposed to the match.

"She is a Stokeworth. And she is not even the daughter of the lord. She is his brother's daughter. As it stands, I am of a mind to have her married off to a knight from our retainers here at King's Landing and grant them some land as far from here as possible," Viserys replied.

"The master-at-arms here should make a fine enough husband for her. Ser Lothston and his family have served our House for a long time, going all the way back to the time of Maegor the Cruel," Viserys continued.

"They have served us well, true. But would marrying him off to a despoiled woman not be a poor way of showing our gratitude for services rendered?" Aegon questioned.

Viserys looked away in thought. Aegon knew his brother must have had something in his mind to deal with this issue and waited for his brother to speak.

"Despite my assertions of her ensnaring Aegon, the fact remains that he has despoiled her. Given significant lands or a large castle, he will keep his silence in regards to the woman. However, Harrenhal still remains empty and many consider the castle cursed. None of our vassals would care that he has been given Harrenhal and he would be bound in vassalage to Tully," Viserys answered.

Aegon was not really convinced by this, but since his brother wanted to do this to put his son's mistake to rights, Aegon was willing to grant Viserys his request and bestow Harrenhal upon Lucas Lothston.

Viserys seemed to have mistaken Aegon's silence as reluctance and continued with his explanation. "In the days of Aegon the Dragon, when Harrenhal was first burnt by the flames of the Black Dread, the castle was given to Ser Quenton Qoherys, master-at-arms of Dragonstone. There is a precedent for it brother, and you are the King. None would question your decision."

"If this is how you wish to resolve the situation, then so be it. I shall grant Ser Lucas Harrenhal. Get the woman married to our master-at-arms and send her away from here," Aegon said.

Viserys nodded. Then he seemed to have remembered something and spoke, "There is a matter of utmost importance I have to speak with you. As you know, Lord Arryn was sent in your name across the Crownlands to collect a special tithe for the tourney in celebration of Warrior's Day."

"However, on his way back from Stonedance, and just inside the Kingswood, he was ambushed by bandits and the whole of his party was murdered and robbed. He was travelling with around twenty men and for all of them to be killed…"

"It must be a large gang of bandits. Remnants of Cregan Stark's men or perhaps from some other army," Aegon finished.

"Yes. Such a situation must not be allowed to stand, not in the Crownlands and not so close to us. The local lordlings are to blame for not bringing this to our attention sooner and they shall be dealt with after the celebrations," Viserys replied.

He continued, "I have asked the Master of Whispers to get an estimate on their numbers within a week. The Lord Commander has been tasked with getting a force of ten knights and however many men-at-arms are required for this endeavour to succeed. The only thing left is your assent, brother," Viserys said.

Aegon nodded. " Of course. The good of the realm comes first. Send as many men as are needed." Then, a thought took hold of Aegon and he continued before his brother could speak further.

"Your younger son squires for Ser Ruskin, I believe. And your eldest is your own squire. Neither of them has had a chance to get outside of King's Landing much and they are yet to see real combat. I want you to send then with this party to get rid of the bandits," Aegon said.

Viserys seemed to be rather receptive to the idea and Aegon continued on. " Let your sons be blooded before the tourney. Once they have a taste of real combat, they are bound to do well in the tourney. Ser Ruskin is a part of the assembled knights, isn't he? Send another knight of the Kingsguard for their protection if you fear for their safety."

Viserys nodded his assent. "Ten knights are to be part of this party venturing into the Kingswood. I see no reason to send yet more. I have faith in my sons' ability. Though, perhaps sending Sandoq would make a statement of your intent."

Aegon shook his head. "Sandoq has become too old, Viserys. He can no longer even guard me properly. His veil covers his face and his age, and I only keep him close for his size. I fear that he has not much time left in this world." As he said this, Aegon felt melancholy. All of those with whom he had shared his childhood, save his brother, were already dead or dying. His youth made it even worse, for he knew he had yet many years to live.

"If that is all, Viserys, I wish to be alone for a little while yet," Aegon said. Viserys stood up to leave but hesitated. Aegon looked at him. Viserys was not usually one to keep things from him and Aegon knew he would tell him if he believed the matter to be important.

After a few moments deliberation, Viserys took a deep breath spoke. "I believe that it would be nothing but beneficial Aegon, if you stop shutting yourself off from the realm and from your family. Old Munkun is still going on and on about a royal progress. At the very least, I would urge you to be a bit more open in matters regarding your subjects and vassals. Seeing you closed off pains me deeply, even after all these years."

Aegon felt his lips curl into a semblance of a smile. His brother's concern for the image he projected was admirable but his problems were his own and too numerous. So Aegon made the usual excuses and Viserys left.

As soon as Viserys left, a coughing fit took over Aegon. He covered his mouth with his hands as he coughed and once he stopped his coughing, he looked at his hands. They were covered in flecks of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback


	4. Aemon

**_Aemon_**  
  
  
Aemon let a scream of exhilaration past his lips as he raced with his brother on the kingsroad. Their party had set out from King’s Landing just a few days prior and were nearing the lands of House Byrch. The men-at-arms were left way behind as Aegon had decided to have an impromptu race towards the final fork in the kingsroad where the party would be taking a turn to skirt the edge of the kingswood and stay at the Byrch estate for the night.  
  
  
Aemon turned around to catch a glimpse of his brother only to see that Aegon was nearly upon him. He urged his horse on to move faster and it responded marvellously to his commands. Just as Aegon was about to overtake him, Aemon’s horse sped up and left Aegon to bite the dust in Aemon’s wake.  
  
  
Aemon knew his brother was not one to be outdone by anyone and tried to urge his horse to keep up its pace for the last few yards. Soon, Aemon would cross the boulder that they had agreed on beforehand as the finish line and Aemon would be able to show his brother who was the superior rider.  
  
  
As soon as that thought had come into Aemon’s mind, Aegon rushed past him and before he realized what had happened, he was beaten.  
  
  
Just as Aemon reached the finish line, Aegon dismounted his horse and allowed it to rest, loosening the straps of its saddle. The horse was panting and soon it regained it’s breath and started grazing on the grass around it. Aegon chuckled as Aemon closed the distance between them, patting his horse on the head.  
  
  
“Aemon! That is how one rides brother. And that is how one wins. You let your enemy think he’s won and then snatch the victory from right under him! Ah, you should’ve seen your face, eyes wide as dinner plates as you tried to look to where I was.” Aegon was now laughing at Aemon and Aemon scowled.  
  
  
Aemon pushed Aegon in his annoyance and Aegon stumbled backwards before falling over and then it was Aemon’s turn to laugh at his brother. Aegon picked himself up and smirked at his brother and Aemon found his laughter slowly dying off as Aegon spoke.  
  
  
“Oh, Aemon! There is no need for that. Or did you push me because you were unable to take your loss? We know you are a sore loser but surely it’s not that bad loosing to your brother. I am better than you after all,” Aegon said much to Aemon’s irritation.  
  
  
Aemon replied, “Riding horses isn’t everything Aegon. Both of us know that you are no good against me in the yard. I am obviously your better in swordplay and therefore I am your superior. In fact, you’re too afraid to even try to cross swords against me.”  
  
  
Aegon was unruffled by these comments and instead walked over to his horse and patted the mace that hung on it’s saddle. “Swordplay is for children, Aemon. I am no longer a child. I am a grown man and men use weapons of war,” Aegon said proudly and continued speaking before Aemon could interject.  
  
  
“Yes, yes. I know what you’ll say, ‘I am only a year younger than you. I am as much of a man as you are.’ And so on and so forth,” Aegon said in a high voice, miming Aemon whose voice had an unfortunate tendency to break at the most misfortunate of times. Aemon went red in embarrassment and fumbled for something to say while Aegon laughed at him. Eventually, he found his voice but not before it had broken a few more times much to his consternation.  
  
  
“The mace is hardly an elegant weapon. Any brute can swing it around in a fight. You don’t need to learn any technique or have much finesse to be able to use it. The art of the sword is one which needs passion and dedication and true devotion to be able to become a master one day,” Aemon said only to notice that Aegon wasn’t even paying attention to him and Aemon shoved him in vindictiveness.  
  
  
“You know Aemon, only children measure the worth of their weapons the way you do. Grown men show results instead of this petty squabbling of yours,” Aegon replied looking smug as if he’d given a particularly witty retort. Aemon realized that Aegon was just repeating his earlier words and trying to pass them off as sage advice and snorted.  
  
  
“What is this Aegon? You’re speaking an awful lot about being grown up today. Didn’t you proclaim only a few weeks ago that you’d be ‘young forever’ and not grow old and boring like father had become? Where did this sudden change come from?” Aemon retorted, knowing that calling out his brother on his contradictions was sure to earn his ire.  
  
  
Aegon, however, smiled slyly and beckoned Aemon closer to him as if to impart upon him some great secret. Intrigued, Aemon went closer to his brother and Aegon started speaking in hushed tones, which further increased Aemon’s curiosity and excitement.  
  
  
“The truth is, Aemon, well, I don’t know how to put this so I shall say this plainly. I am going to get married soon. No, wait, let me finish speaking before you say anything stupid,” he said quickly before Aemon could get a word in edgewise. Aegon continued speaking. “It’s Falena Stokeworth, you know, the one whose around the Queen a lot, she’s one of her handmaidens. Though, she isn’t much of maiden any more,” Aegon said while letting out a sharp laugh near the end.  
  
  
“But Aegon, she’s at least ten years older than you! And her family is not really the most prestigious, even in the Crownlands. You know father will oppose this. Does he know?” Aemon asked, before the last part of his brother’s words dawned on him and he looked to Aegon with an expression mixed with fascination and horror. “Aegon, please tell me you didn’t sleep with her. You were joking about the last part, right?” Aegon’s smug smile told Aemon everything he needed to know on the matter.  
  
  
“To answer your questions, my dear little brother, Yes, Father does know and yes, I did sleep with her. We are lovers now and we were such for quite some years now. Oh, wipe that look off your face, I’d hardly advertise the fact that I was sleeping around to everyone else. I know how to be discrete,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“But what of father? You know how he is about these sort of things. Or are you going to get married in secret without his permission?” Aemon inquired.  
  
  
“Oh, father knows about us. He even made his displeasure known. But I went to our uncle and he’s given me his blessing. Father can’t overrule the King,” Aegon said. Aemon gaped at him. A lot was going on behind his head and he felt disappointed in being left out of his brother’s life. He was sure this woman would be his goodsister. His father wouldn’t go against his uncle and now he wanted to meet the woman who made Aegon fall in love.  
  
  
Just then, the knights they had left behind came up the kingsroad, with the Lord Commander at their head and the men-at-arms marching behind them. Aemon straightened up involuntarily, he might be a prince of the realm but he was still a squire to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and had to be ready to perform any duties required of him as a squire.  
  
  
Fortunately, it looked as if there was nothing Ser Ruskin required of him at the moment and Aemon and Aegon rejoined the party with minimal fuss and a greeting to the assembled knights. Of the ten knights in their band, six were from the Crownlands, with Ser Franklyn Waters, the bastard son of Lord Celtigar the de facto leader of the lot. Aemon found it highly ironic for the Lord Celtigar to have a bastard considering the previous Lord Celtigar’s opinions on bastardy.  
  
  
Of the remaining four, one was the Lord Commander and two were Rivermen. One was a certain Ser Jaremy Butterwell, the heir to Lord Harroway’s Town, an oily man who looked to gain royal favour by any means necessary and Aemon found him highly distasteful. The other riverman was Ser Donnel Ryger, the third son of a second son, who had come to the capital as a part of Lord Blackwood’s retinue in order to, in his words, ‘sieze the day and make my mark on history.’ Aemon found that he quite liked Ser Ryger’s enthusiasm for life and got on very well with him.  
  
  
Aemon noticed the last knight of their band of ten, speaking with Aegon further up the road. Ser Robyn Foote was a Westerman and his most distinguishing characteristics were his penchant for silence and the deep scars that covered most of his face. Whenever asked for the cause of the scars he would launch into a long-winded story, telling a different tale each time.  
  
  
As they rode on towards the Byrch estate, Aemon noticed Aegon conversing with most of the knights present. Aemon himself was silent most of the time, preferring to observe these people and judge their worth, but Aegon drew them into conversation effortlessly.  
  
  
So lost was he in his musings, that he almost missed Aegon’s shout of recognition as they came upon the Byrch estate after a couple of hours of riding. The Byrch estate was mainly a huge manse, and did not have much in the way of defence, but it was beautiful to look upon. The surrounding lands for at least a few miles in each direction were Byrch lands and Aemon felt happier now that their journey was over.  
  
  
Just outside the manse, a portly man dressed in fineries stood, looking out of place in this rustic forested setting. Behind him stood more people, two in armor, most probably household knights and three more in the same fine clothes, probably his family. A little further back stood a group of people in more hardy clothing who he guessed to be the servants. So the whole household had come out to greet royalty then.  
  
  
Aemon urged his horse to go a bit faster and caught upto his brother just as the reached the manse. Both of them got down at the same time and Lord Byrch looked confused as to whom to address. “He’s the older one,” Aemon said, pointing at Aegon who smirked. Lord Byrch reddened at the perceived rebuke and quickly bowed to Aegon.  
  
  
“My Prince, I hope you forgive my ignorance. I had not had the fortune of gazing upon either of you and this was the cause of my mistake. I am Rennifer Byrch and I welcome you to our estate. Your Grace, the manse is yours,” he said. Aemon felt he was trying too hard to be pleasing.  
  
  
“Worry not, Lord Rennifer. All of us make mistakes. Let us go into the manse and make ourselves more comfortable. The men have been on the road for the better part a day and I’m sure the hospitality of your manse will be welcome,” Aegon said smoothly and Aemon could see Rennifer calm down as he realized he would not be in any trouble for his, admittedly minor, mistake.  
  
  
“Of course, your grace. Let me lead you in,” he said and started walking back towards the manse. Aegon and Aemon followed him as two grooms arrived to take their horses away. The Lord Commander fell into step behind them, with the other knights trailing behind. The men-at-arms were setting up a sort of bivouac to settle down for the night, talking to the Byrch servants to arrange for food.  
  
  
As they were about to enter into the manse, the Lord Commander stopped him. “Tell your brother to meet me after we finish eating, lad. We have much to discuss. There is going to be council where I shall divulge the Master of Whispers’s information and we shall decide a plan of attack.”  
  
  
Aemon nodded and both of them made their way into the manse just behind Aegon who was talking with one of Lord Byrch’s blushing daughters. Aemon was excited and a little afraid of the battle tomorrow and more importantly, he was hungry. They would eat first and worry about fighting later when their stomachs were full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the 'battle' with the bandits will be in the next chapter. Most likely. It was supposed to be in this one, but this chapter wrote itself and I was unable to fit the battle into this one without making it too long. Any feedback is, as always, appreciated. Let me know what you thought of this one.


	5. Ser Raynard Ruskin

**_The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard_**

Ser Raynard Ruskin winced as he stretched, his joints creaking, made all the more painful due to him just having woken up. As was his wont, his squire handed him a wineskin full of water, which he downed in one go and then washed his arms and face in the basin which his squire filled with warm water(he once used cold water, but those days were long gone). Then, he relieved himself in the chamber pot and after that, he was ready to tackle the day.

The ‘council’ had gone about as well as expected, which was not really very well at all. All the knights just argued with each other while both of the princes just sat there bored out of their minds. It served Raynard right for trying to even hold a council for such a trivial thing. These bandits were worse than the men-at-arms they had brought along with them. The bandits were, at best, barely better than peasant levies.

Ser Robert Darklyn’s information was really useful, though, and the smallfolk rumors and men sent out by Ser Darklyn himself had agreed on a few things. The gang was around fifty strong, give or take a few men. They were encamped just within the kingswood, not even a few hours’ ride from the Byrch estate. And finally, they were led by a knight, formerly of the North, one Ser Brandon Snow. As if the name couldn’t be generic enough. Though, how a Northman, and one named Brandon at that, became a knight anointed by the Seven was a mystery. One Raynard was not inclined to solve.

“Well, lad, time to get my armor on me,” he said to his squire and Aemon nodded walking over to where Raynard’s armor was kept after he took it off for the night. As Aemon brought it over and busied himself with the various straps and buckles, Raynard thought of what might be done during the fight. Yes, Aemon was a dutiful squire and a squire’s place was by his master, but he was also a prince of the blood and as a Kingsguard, Raynard was sworn to let no harm come to the prince’s person.

Aemon finished strapping on Raynard’s armor and the both of them set out from their shared rooms. Raynard continued with his musings as they walked. The prince could be trusted to hold his own during the fight. Raynard believed that. These were simple bandits. Still he would position himself close to both the princes. Yes, that would be prudent.

The total number of their party, excluding the ten knights was seventy men. The odds were a bit too even for his tastes, but Lord Byrch promised to send ten more of his own men-at-arms and the two household knights in his employ. It was clear he was taken with Prince Aegon, who was princely and maintained a regal gravitas even at his young age and Lord Byrch hoped this help would give him royal favour.

Soon, they arrived at the training yard where they found Prince Aegon whacking away at one of the Byrch men-at-arms with a mace. He had no finesse or technique but then again, he had enough strength to manoeuvre the mace in any way he liked and more importantly, he knew where to hit for devastating effect, as shown in his just ended fight, though it was with a wooden mace, thankfully.

Aemon looked at Raynard pleadingly and Raynard understood. He’d let the boy have his fun. They were training to fight anyways, not whoring or some such. “Go on then, lad. Spar with your brother, but your sword against his mace. You’ll not have the luxury of always facing swordsmen,” he said and Aemon had nodded and rushed off, barely stopping to put on a padded gambeson and an open-faced helm and grab a blunted sword and a wooden shield.

Aegon noticed his brother and smiled, which turned predatory upon seeing him getting ready for a fight. That was something Raynard liked about Prince Aegon. He had a sort of killer instinct, though how much of that would translate to actual killing would be decided in the kingswood today.

The brothers circled each other as a retainer of House Byrch stood to the side as the arbitrator. The master-at-arms, perhaps. No sooner did he signal the start, than Aemon lunged forward intent on skewering his brother on his sword’s non-existent point. Aegon however, just stepped aside, the sword missing him by a matter of inches even as he brought his mace overhead to drop a strike on his overextended brother.

Aemon, to his credit, reacted swiftly, raising his shield and pushing away just as the mace struck it, the force of the parry causing Aegon to stumble. Aemon then followed up with a slice of his own aimed at Aegon’s midsection but missed due to his own misjudgement of the distance.

Aegon needed just that to recover, and brought around his mace for a series of furious strikes giving Aemon no chance to do anything but block with his shield. However, this blistering offensive also took its toll on Aegon, who was already tired before the fight and now became a bit sluggish in his motions.

This was just what Aemon needed and in a beautiful riposte, disarmed Aegon simply by hitting him on his wrist forcing him to drop his weapon following which Aemon put his sword at his brother’s throat and asked, “Yield?”

“Yield, brother. That was well fought. Though we shall need to have a rematch. I cannot remain the loser in our bouts. It wouldn’t be proper if the younger brother defeated his elder, would it?” Aegon asked with a chuckle and Aemon let out a little laugh of his own, both of them panting from exertion.

Satisfied that the brothers were not hostile to each other, Raynard went around the yard, giving pointers to some of the men-at-arms, who had come to practice or even having a few bouts with the knights of his own party. Before he knew it, the yard was empty, with many of the men having gone to break their fast.

Looking around the yard, he spied Aemon waiting for him and soon the both of them set off to break their own fast and make preparations for the fight.

* * *

  


It was just after eating, that their party had set out from the Byrch manse, intent on reaching the bandits' hideout just as the sun passed its highest point. The lethargy of the late afternoon and the summer heat would serve them well.

Even the timing of the attack was a point of strife for their party. The Rivermen had both joined together and argued for attacking at night under the cover of darkness. A rather foolish idea to do so in the kingswood. If they got lanterns to light their path, they'd be found out and if they didn't their horses would stumble about, breaking a leg or worse.

Eventually, they had reached a consensus on the plan of attack. They'd walk their horses with the men until they were a few hundred yards from the expected location of the bandit camp. Then, they would charge the camp with lances and go a few passes to kill as many as possible before the men-at-arms arrived.

Raynard thought the bandits would break before then, but there would be no mercy, and the runners would also have to be hunted. These bandits had killed the Master of Coin and stolen the Crown's money, the gift of mercy was the only thing they were going to be getting.

Soo, they had arrived at their predetermined point and mounted their horses, cantering towards the bandits' camp. They came upon it within a few minutes and it was set in a large clearing, just the Master of Whispers' information had it out to be. The group of knights urged their horses to gallop just as they came within sight of the bandits, with the men-at-arms rushing forward behind them.

As they charged into the bandits, Raynard could see that many were shocked that their hideout was found out and a few were even trampled under horse's hooves, so unprepared were they. Raynard speared a man with his Lance and another before throwing it away, having broken it from the force of the blow. He took out his sword from its scabbard on his horse's saddle and turned his mount around for another go.

Cutting down men left and right mechanically, he observed that the princes were near the centre of the clearing and had dismounted, preferring to fight on foot. Aemon had his sword out and three bodies already lay near his feet.

Aegon, nearby to Aemon, was fighting with a man who could only be the leader. He was the only one with armor on, though calling it armor would be an insult to armors. It was a mishmash of parts, most likely scavenged off of battlefields. Raynard urged his horse on forwards to help Aegon.

Just as was about to reach the prince, Aegon parried a strike from Brandon Snow and his retaliatory blow caved the bastard knight's chestplate in.

Seeing their leader fall, the rest of the bandits who were close to breaking even before the battle had begun, broke entirely and started running away into the forest. The initial charge by the knights and subsequent horseback combat had killed at least two dozen men, though Raynard also noticed that two of their own knights, both from the Crownlands were also dead.

The men-at-arms began to cheer on seeing the enemy break, but Raynard turned to face the princes.

"Aegon, Aemon, I hope you are unharmed? We have to chase down these bandits, lads. No quarter for these scum,” he said. Aegon turned to him and nodded, his excitement clearly writ on his face, but Aemon was slow to do so. He had always had a soft heart and Raynard still considered him a child in matters of war.

But it was all for nought, Aemon had killed already now, and he would have to continue to do so. Coddling him would do the boy no favours. All he could do was to help him become the best fighter he could be.

Soon enough, the bandits were overrun and Ser Foote of the Westerlands had managed to find out where the bandits had hidden their stolen gold. Lord Arryn’s sword was found there and in the absence of his body, no doubt thrown facedown in a ditch somewhere, his sword would have to be sent back to Gulltown.

Their task finished, the men started the march back to the Byrch estate, their own dead buried, some personal effects taken to give back to the families fo the deceased. Raynard had the dead knights’ armor loaded up to be sent back to their families. Perhaps, it would inspire their sons or brothers to take up arms for the king one day.

Warrior’s Day would be upon them within a couple of weeks and the men were getting excited about the festivities, the fighting of a few hours prior already forgotten. Raynard saw Aemon and Aegon talking about the battle and the men they had killed and about how they’d do in the upcoming tourney.

Behind them, the bodies of the bandits lay forgotten, having been stripped of their valuables by the men-at-arms. There would be no burial for these bandits, no songs of their deeds would ever be sung and they’d lie forgotten. And that was how Raynard preferred it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not really happy with this chapter. It is a bit more description heavy than previous ones, but the POV called for it with my Raynard being more of a distant person who prefers little interaction with anyone. As usual, any feedback is appreciated.


	6. Aemon/Aegon

**_Aemon_**  
  
  
Aemon was worried. His brother had not taken the news of what had happened with his lover well. Aemon had seen him only once after he had heard of what his father had done, storming out of his father’s solar. After that, he only had hearsay placing him in some corner of the Red Keep drinking heavily or the words of his fellow squires who were beaten black and blue by Aegon in the training yard.  
  
  
And so, Aemon found himself outside his brother’s bedchambers, along with his sister Naerys, early in the morning before the sun had risen, hoping to confront him before he could leave to hide away. The Warrior’s Day tourney was tomorrow and Aemon hoped that the prospect of fighting might cheer his brother up a little.  
  
  
Aemon stepped inside his brother’s rooms and went over to his bed and pulled back the covers, only to find the lump in the bed was not Aegon, but only pillows put together! Aemon turned around to take a better look at the room and found his brother at the table, fast asleep, his head in his arms. Aemon gave him a little nudge to wake him up.  
  
  
“Eh! Geroff!” Aegon mumbled and turned away to sleep. Naerys giggled and Aemon shook him a bit more urgently and Aegon woke up, his sleep ruined, he stood up and rubbed at his eyes before taking a look at Aemon, then at the gray early morning sky.  
  
  
“What are you doing here? Do you know how early it is? Unlike you, some of us have to sleep to be able to survive. How did you even wake up so early anyway? Just leave and let me sleep,” Aegon said, irritation visible on his face.  
  
  
“Aegon, we need to talk. Where have you been? It has been two weeks and neither I nor anyone else has seen anything of you. And I’ve been hearing that you’re drinking wine a lot. Me and Naerys have been really worried,” Aemon said.  
  
  
Naerys nodded and said, “Yes, Aegon. Please, tell us what’s wrong. Is it about that woman you loved? Falena Stokeworth? Aemon told me about her, you know. And Aemon, it's Naerys and I, not me and Naerys," Naerys said. Aemon cringed, yes he had told her because he felt she had a right to know, but she was being entirely tactless and from the look on Aegon's face, he felt the same.  
  
  
"Oh, so you know how I feel then. Perhaps you know what it feels like to have your life torn out, root and stem. To lose the woman you loved, to have your own father not care about your happiness. To have your uncle, the person who you trusted to help, turn against you," Aegon exploded at her and Aemon noticed Naerys starting to cry and jumped to her defense.  
  
  
"Enough, brother. Watch your words, look Naerys is about to cry because of you," he said hotly and this seemed to enrage Aegon even further who replied with just the same anger.  
  
  
"Yes, she's crying, you care only about her, don't you? I trusted you and you blabbed about my secrets to her and who knows who else. I don't care for either of you, now get out and leave me alone," Aegon said getting properly angry now, his face a furious shade of red.  
  
  
Aemon realized that he should have been a bit more diplomatic and tried another approach. "Calm down, brother. Naerys meant nothing by her words. She is still a child. We only came here to enquire about your well being. As I had said earlier, we are worried about you. Please, don't get angry," Aemon said.  
  
  
But Aegon was too far gone in his anger and physically pushed Aemon and Naerys away. Taking this as a sign of his brother's violent mood, Aemon beat a retreat, not wanting to come to blows with his brother in his sister's presence.  
  
  
Dejected, Aemon escorted his sister back to her rooms and was on his way to the yard to get in some practice when he happened upon a curious sight.  
  
  
The yard was empty owing to the early hours of the morning save for two figures. Two short and very familiar figures. Wearing padded clothes and holding tourney swords, with each having a half-helm on their heads.  
  
  
"Daeron! Baelor! What are you doing here? In the training yard at this early hour," Aemon asked and he saw Daeron urgently trying to hide his tourney sword and urging Baelor to do the same.  
  
  
"Uh, Aemon! How nice to see you here! What a pleasant surprise! Me and Baelor are just inspecting the weapons and such. To check for signs of sabotage. Yes, that's what we were doing," Daeron said in the tone of someone who had something to hide or that of a child who has not yet learned how to cover up his mistakes.  
  
  
“It’s not ‘Me and Baelor’. It’s ‘Baelor and I’, and I want you to know that you’re not really very good at lying,” Aemon observed lightly. If anything this increased Daeron’s panic which also started to make Baelor a bit more agitated. Aemon realized that Baelor was about to tell him the truth if pressed a little harder and turned on him.  
  
  
“Baelor, what is all this about? Are you doing something you are not supposed to do? And that too without the Kingsguard present to protect you if anything were to happen,” Aemon said and predictably, Baelor folded like wet paper.  
  
  
“Aemon! We were practising our swordplay. Daeron and I are going to take part in the squire’s tourney tomorrow. In honour of the Warrior, and we will show our marital skills as a tribute to his glory,” Baelor said, clearly very taken with this idea. Aemon knew that Baelor was never the most aggressive of people, but seeing him this way shocked Aemon and Daeron pressed this to his advantage.  
  
  
“Please, Aemon. You can’t tell anyone. We just want to take part in the tourney. It’ll be very exciting and I managed to convince Baelor after a long time. And you have to help us,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“You are nine and Baelor is eight. There is no way this is going to be safe for either of you. And neither of you are squires. You can’t take part in the tourney anyway,” Aemon said.  
  
  
“We solved that problem already. You know how there are mystery knights in some tourneys? Well, we are going to be mystery squires. I have already bribed the person in charge of the admissions and when me and Baelor come into the field, we will be wearing brigandines with no insignia on them and great helms to cover our faces. It’s going to be great,” Daeron said excitedly and Aemon gave it up as a lost cause.  
  
  
“Alright, I’ll help you, but both of you must stay by me during the fights. The men fighting in the tourney might just be squires but few of them are in their twenties and I don’t want you to face such opponents. If I say someone is beyond your skill, you don’t fight him. And when the fight reaches its final stages and only the strong fighters are left, you resign from the match and leave the field. If you agree to these conditions, I’ll help you. If not, I think I know the way to your father’s solar,” Aemon said.  
  
  
Daeron’s face fell upon hearing these conditions but Baelor seemed to be a bit relieved and Aemon was glad that Baelor was just putting on a brave face. He didn’t think Baelor was one to simply charge into situations like this and he was glad to have his assumptions proven right.  
  
  
“Alright, Aemon. We’ll stick by your rules. But you will help us, right?” Daeron enquired eagerly and Aemon laughed and ruffled Daeron’s hair.  
  
  
“Yes, I will. Now, show me your posture and take a swing.”  
  


* * *

  
  
 ** _Aegon_**  
  
  
On the morning of the tourney, Aegon woke with the sun, but only because he had slept by a window and the sun’s rays had burned his eyes. He stretched and walked out of his chambers, snagging a wineskin from his table as he went out.  
  
  
As he made his way out of the Red Keep, riding towards the tourney grounds, Aegon found that his bad mood had only soured more from his conversation with his brother and sister. He did admit that he could have been better, but seeing Naerys had brought back to his mind the conversation he’d had with his father and his uncle about marriage. And now, he was afraid he would have to get married to Naerys. Well, he’d deal with it, if it came to that. Or, he could always run away to Essos and live as a sellsword. Aegon snorted as that thought came to his mind.   
  
  
Soon, he arrived at the tourney grounds, where some last-minute preparations were left as workmen ran to and fro painting on sigils of the arriving lords and fixing the benches for the nobility to sit upon.  
  
  
He ignored all of that and made his way to where the tents were set up. He already had a servant put up a tent separately for him and put his weapons and armor inside. Aegon made his way to his tent and started to change. The tourney would be in a few hours and the squires’ melee would be the first one, a way to whet the audience’s appetite for violence.  
  
  
Aegon put on his armor by himself, vowing to get a squire as soon as he got knighted and deliberated over which weapon to take. His head was throbbing due to his excessive drink the previous night and he saw his tourney mace and the real thing placed side by side and on a whim selected his real iron mace. Breaking a few bones would be good for his mood.  
  
  
He sat in his tent and downed some more wine before a herald came to announce that the melee was about to start, after which Aegon made his way to the melee grounds. He looked around and saw his brother talking two really short squires with no insignia anywhere on their person. Perhaps, they were the squires of hedge knights, then?  
  
  
Seeing his brother talking with those two squires and giving them advice sent a thrill of anger and jealousy through Aegon. Aemon was his brother and yet there he was ignoring him after their spat yesterday, choosing instead to spend his time with two squires of no note. Perhaps, Aegon would have to break the bones of those squires instead, to teach them a lesson, he thought darkly.  
  
  
Then the King stood up and spoke something about the Faith and chivalry and martial prowess, but honestly, Aegon couldn’t care less. He’d never trust his uncle and his father ever again and he just wanted this speech to be over. Aegon was itching for a fight.  
  
  
Soon, the speech was over and the squires spread themselves across the field and the signal to start was given. Aegon found his first opponent, a reedy squire of house Rosby and made quick work of him, probably breaking his arm in the process. Aegon pushed through the fighting men and tried to place the two unknown squires.   
  
  
He found one of them near Aemon, fighting another squire and defeating him handily, but when some other squire tried to attack him, Aemon defended the unknown squire. Seeing this sent a shock of rage through Aegon. His brother, who would not even care to see him when he’d heard news of Falena’s marriage, who would only come to him upon the insistence of their sister no doubt, was instead willing to defend some no-name random squires whom he had most likely just met.  
  
  
Then, Aegon spied the other of the nameless duo fighting a little distance away from Aemon. He seemed to be holding himself well enough against his opponent, but Aegon wanted to see what he ahd that made Aeomn choose him over Aegon.  
  
  
Aegon made his way to the squire, swatting away a few others who had thought to pick a fight with him. By then, the nameless squire had finished off his opponent, a rather young boy in House Cressey’s colours, and he had turned around at Aegon’s approach.  
  
  
In a flash, Aegon was upon him, using his strength to swing the mace in various angles hoping to hem in the squire and finish him off. To his credit, he dodged pretty well, being nimble on his feet but this only served to further enrage Aegon. Some of his anger might have shown on his face and the squire backed away, which only made Aegon angrier.  
  
  
Aegon didn’t know what the squire might have thought, his face covered as it was, but Aegon imagined he must have been smug, to have led a Prince of the Realm around in circles. Unable to take it any longer, Aegon hefted his mace directly onto the squire’s arm, probably breaking his bone and causing him to drop his sword with a cry of pain. Before the squire could so much as recover his wits, Aegon gave him a heavy blow to the chest with a cry of triumph. The squire fell to the ground as his brigandine started to stain red.  
  
  
Before Aegon could revel in his victory, another cry resounded in the arena.  
  
  
“Baelor! No!” And suddenly a hush fell over the tourney grounds as Aemon and the other squire ran over to the fallen one’s side. The other squire removed his helm and Aegon realized, with growing horror, that it was Daeron. Aegon stood rooted to the spot as they pushed past him and removed the fallen squire’s helm and revealed him to be Baelor.  
  
  
Daeron was weeping as Aemon tried to scoop up Baelor’s limp body with urgency. Aegon looked to them and felt his eyes burning and a tightness in his throat. As Baelor was carried away, a Maester having come down from the stands, Aegon stood there and realized he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! And that's another chapter. Do let me know what you thought of it. Feedback helps me get better.


	7. Aegon the Third II

**_The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms_**  
  
  
Ever since he was a child, there were very few people Aegon had truly loved with all of his heart. His mother and his brother were those he had loved first. But he loved his wife no less. And perhaps more importantly, he loved his children, even if he found himself unable to show that love as well as he would have liked.  
  
  
Wild Daena, sweet Rhaena and even little baby Elaena would hold a special place in his heart. He had vowed to himself on the day of their birth to have them married off to a noble family, to a kind lord, a strong knight who would ensure that they would be cared for and be happy till the end of their days. And there was also Daeron, his firstborn, his heir, the Prince of Dargonstone and all that had entailed. He could not have asked for a better son to carry on his line and the Gods had truly blessed him.  
  
  
Then, there was Baelor. Sweet, kind Baelor who preferred to read books and pray in the sept rather than play at swords. Sweet Baelor who had once asked him if he could become a Septon. He would give anything to hold Baelor in his arms once more, to tell him that he could be a septon, that he could even become the High Septon or whatever else he wanted to be.  
  
  
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold Baelor in his arms again because he was dead. Dead at eight, chest caved in, killed by his cousin and it was the love Aegon held for his brother that stayed his hand in this matter.  
  
  
Aegon knew what ailed his brother’s son. He had lost people that he loved too and he knew how he felt. And the issue was not so simple either. He could not punish his nephew for kinslaying because he had not known that he was fighting kin nor did he fight to kill. And then there was the matter of Aemon and Daeron.  
  
  
Aemon had fallen at his feet as soon as the maester had locked himself in a room with Baelor, trying to work his medicine. Aemon had told him everything. Of how he had found Daeron and Baelor practising at swords and how he thought helping them would ensure their safety in the tourney. Hindsight had given Aemon the clarity of realizing that he should not have allowed them to compete at all. Aemon had confessed to being the guilty party and asked to be punished in the place of his brother.  
  
  
A finer display of brotherly affection could not be seen and it left a bitter taste in Aegon’s mouth.  
  
  
Just a few hours after his injury, Baelor had died and Aegon had retreated to chambers unable and unwilling to weep in front of his family. Daeron had followed and clung to him and told him weeping, that it was his own fault that Baelor had died. That he was the one who had convinced Baelor to fight in the tourney, tricked him into thinking that it would be for the Seven and in honour of the Warrior.  
  
  
And now, Aegon sat at the head of the Small Council, with two members missing, Lord Arryn not yet replaced and his brother having excused himself, to weigh judgement upon his nephew.  
  
  
His nephew stood before the Small Council, in the same clothes which he had worn below his armor on the day of the tourney three days prior. Baelor body had been burnt with only a small gathering, with only family attending and Aegon had last seen his nephew there off to a side, crying, while his sister held on to him.  
  
  
Now, he looked the same, his eyes rimmed red and black bags underneath. His skin was pale and sallow with an unhealthy pallor and his clothes wrinkled and stained.  
  
  
Aegon addressed the lords of the Small Council. “Let us begin my lords. You know the facts, there is no need to repeat them once more. I would hear your opinions before coming to a decision,” he said.  
  
  
“The Wall, your Grace. Kinslaying is kinslaying, in spite of what might have been the reason. Let his serve at the Wall and regain his lost honour,” the Master of Laws said.  
  
  
“Methinks the Lord Blackwood is showing his Northern roots. There is no need for such drastic measures, your Grace. They are but children. It is natural that accidents happen. While the death of your son, may the Seven bless his soul, was tragic, we cannot condemn your nephew to a lifetime of punishment for what is, in the end, a mistake,” Alyn Velaryon countered.  
  
  
Benjicit Blackwood looked to retort at this slight on his heritage, but a look from his king silenced him. Aegon motioned for the Master of Ships to continue.  
  
  
“What he did was wrong, of course, I agree with that. But he is a child too. That must be in our minds while we pass judgement on the boy,” the Velaryon said. Aegon saw that his nephew was a little relieved upon hearing that he did not lack for friends on the Small Council.  
  
  
Alyn Velaryon continued. “Let him pay penance by sending him away from the capital, an exile as it were. Send him off to the Dornish Marches. The Wyls and Blackmonts have been launching raids since the Dance and they have shown no signs of stopping. They only kill, not steal or kidnap and this has caused huge losses to the lands of the Dondarrions, the Tudburys and the Carons. Send the young prince off to either of those lands as a sign of your Grace’s regard to their suffering.”  
  
  
The Master of Whispers spoke up, “The lords of the Marches are itching for vengeance, your Grace. If you do send the prince down south, send him with a force of at least a hundred to two hundred men. The lords will want to launch their own raids into Dornish territory and having our own men around the prince will help keep him safe against any Dornish plots.”  
  
  
“And what of you, Lord Commander? What say you?” Aegon addressed Ser Raynard.  
  
“Your Grace, whatever has happened, the fact still remains that on the day of the tragedy, the young prince was not supposed to have drunk before the tourney. Even if we put aside the fact of his accident, what he has done, and that too on Warrior’s Day remains blasphemous. It shows an utter lack of piety and regard for the Gods and the Faith.”  
  
  
“Sending the prince off to a septry, to learn the ways of the Faith is the best, I believe,” Ser Raynard concluded.  
  
  
“Yes, and if need be, we can always have him installed as the High Septon, if we so wish for it,” Ser Robert, ever the pragmatist, said.  
  
  
“Grand Maester, do you have anything to add?” Aegon questioned.  
  
  
“No, your Grace. I defer to your judgement, I see no need to add anything which hasn’t already been said before,” the Grand Maester, Alford said. Old Munkun had died only a few weeks prior. Perhaps, he could have saved Baelor. Aegon did not wish to dwell on such things.  
  
  
“Aegon took a while to collect his thoughts, opting to examine his nephew. Through the course of the meeting, he had gone from resigned to angry to hopeful, to angry and back to resigned. Now, he had a sort of anticipatory expression on his face, and Aegon thought that he hoped maybe his uncle would show mercy upon him.  
  
  
“Aegon Targaryen. You have heard what the Small Council had to say. Now, I shall cast my judgement. As Lord Blackwood said, kinslaying is kinslaying and the person whom you have killed is no distant kin either, but your own cousin and my son. And yet, condemning you to the Wall, to serve out your life, is not the punishment I wish to levy, if only for the love I bear your father,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Neither is sending you to a septry. In this case, the punishment would not fit the crime.”  
  
  
“Then we are left with the Dornish option. Frankly, there would be no better way to start a war than this. We are not so recovered from the Dance that I would want to push for a conflict with Dorne and then attempt to win without dragons, where we have failed with them.”  
  
  
“And yet, this should not mean that you are being let off, unpunished. The idea of exile does have it’s benefits. Sending you away from this place, which has made you into what you are, should fit the crime.”  
  
  
“Yes, I have come to a decision. Your punishment shall be exile, not from King’s Landing, not from the Crownlands, but from Westeros. And if you take refuge in Dorne, then that shall be taken a sign of your collusion with our enemies.”  
  
  
“But, I am not so cruel as to exile you for life. For the sake of my brother and my son, and the love that they bear for you, you are exiled from Westeros, on the pain of death, for seven years or until my death, whichever comes later. You will be given a week to leave. Begone,” Aegon pronounced.  
  
  
Pale-faced, his nephew ran away from the Small Council chamber and Aegon too left, not caring for the members whispering among themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback and any little you give helps!


	8. Aegon II

**_Aegon_**  
  
  
Aegon rushed to his chambers as soon as his uncle had given his verdict. Truth be told, he was a bit relieved. He had expected to be put to death, for the crime of kinslaying. That the people on the Small Council had argued for him came as a surprise. And then there was Ser Raynard, arguing for him to become a septon, the utter bastard.   
  
  
He entered his chambers, unsure of what to do and how to prepare, but upon taking a good look inside, he stopped cold. His father was standing in his rooms, looking out of the window. He turned upon hearing Aegon approaching.  
  
  
“Well? I trust you are not to be executed?” Viserys tried to jape, but it fell flat.  
  
  
Aegon ground his teeth. Here he was, the cause of all his problems, standing in front of him and trying to jape at his situation. Aegon tried to calm himself and spoke.  
  
  
“Exile. For seven years or until uncle dies, whichever comes later. From Westeros, under the pain of death.”  
  
  
His father looked pained, but said nothing for a while, opting instead to stare out of the window once more. Aegon stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, but his father spoke after a while and saved Aegon the effort of speaking first.  
  
  
"Come with me to the yard. I wish to take a measure of the sort of fighter you have become," Viserys said, out of the blue and so utterly outside his norm that Aegon was left speechless. Viserys, not sharing his son's confusion swept out of the room and Aegon, having recovered his wits, rushed to follow.  
  
  
As they walked through the Red Keep's hallways and corridors, on the way to their destination, Aegon hazarded a glance at his father. Viserys's face was set into an expression of determination and purpose and Aegon feared his father meant to punish him for his actions. Aegon addressed his father.  
  
  
"Who will I be fighting against, father? Some squires? Or a knight? Will I fight against the new Master-at-arms?" Aegon inquired.  
  
  
"You will be fighting against me. I can hardly take my measure of you if you fight someone else. And Ser Brune has better things to do than fight every disgraced squire who challenges him," Viserys declared and Aegon felt a lance of anger shoot through him at his father's casual dismissal.  
  
  
Then, Aegon fully registered his father's words and dread pooled in his stomach. Despite his father not looking like it, he was an accomplished tourney knight and melee fighter, having had his own share of victories and glory at the lists when Aegon had been younger.  
  
  
Before Aegon could decide on a plan of escape, they arrived at the training yard and Viserys ordered Aegon to strap on some armor and get a weapon, before going to do so himself. Unsurprisingly, Viserys too chose a mace. It was upon watching Viserys making quick work of some other knight at a tourney in Aegon's childhood, that Aegon had the idea of using the mace as his weapon in the first place.  
  
  
Aegon and his father faced each other. The yard was empty save for a groom, who had evidently forsaken his duties at the stable to laze around in the yard. Well, Aegon would put up a show, even for an audience as meager as this.  
  
  
Without waiting for his father to signal the start, Aegon took a step forward and swung his mace overhead, hoping surprise would help him win the fight. His father reacted, lightning quick, and sidestepped, allowing the mace to pass by harmlessly and waiting until it was at the bottom of its arc and trapping it with his own mace and a foot.  
  
  
Viserys then gave Aegon a sharp blow with his shield, aiming for his nose, but instead finding his brow. The rim of the shield hit Aegon and the pain almost made Aegon let his weapon loose, but Aegon held on and kicked out at his father.  
  
  
Viserys leapt away and freed Aegon's weapon in the process. Aegon wasted no time and brought his mace around to deliver a series of blisteringly fast strikes. Viserys parried a few of them, but years of ruling the realm in the place of his brother had left him with little time to hone his skills or stay in shape. Soon, Viserys grew tired of defending and Aegon took his chance, with a swipe prying Viserys’s shield away.  
  
  
Aegon saw the look of surprise on his father’s face and raised his mace for the final strike, but then faltered. This situation was eerily similar to how Baelor had been killed and Aegon found himself unwilling to make the blow. Viserys took advantage of his son’s lack of attention and regained his bearings enough to deliver a strike to Aegon which hit his hand and made him drop his weapon.   
  
  
Effectively disarmed, Aegon gave his surrender and his father nodded, breathing heavily. It was obvious Viserys was not in a very good shape and Aegon wondered what the point of this exercise was. He spoke up and asked about something else instead.  
  
  
“Will I have to marry Naerys after I get back?” Aegon inquired.  
  
  
“No. With the Gods’ grace, my brother will not die anytime soon. While I do want to see House Targaryen prosper and grow, forcing Naerys to wait for you to come from your marriage, which might take anywhere from seven to however many years, seems rather redundant,” Viserys said.  
  
  
He continued,” Aemon will have to marry Naerys in your place. The future of House Targaryen is too precious to leave it to eventualities. Especially after the accident on Warrior’s Day.”  
  
  
“Well, Naerys should prefer Aemon to me, I suppose. He shares her piety, which makes him vastly more agreeable to her than I do. Though I don’t know how they’d react to this,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Viserys hummed non-committally and spoke. “Follow me Aegon, I have something to show you,” he said and walked away towards the armory and Aegon followed behind wondering what it was his father had to show him.  
  
  
They entered the armory and a servant came forth, bowing, and spoke to Viserys.  
  
  
“It is ready, milord. We’ve cleaned and refitted the weapon with new leathers on it’s handle. I polished it myself, I did. It’s a miracle it hasn’t been rusted after all these years. I’ve kept it in the cabinet over there. Shall I bring it out?” he said, pointing to a cabinet used for the storage of weapons and other such miscellanies.  
  
  
Despite his somber mood, Aegon found himself getting excited. Was his father about to give him Dark Sister to aid in his journeys? Dark Sister had lain masterless ever since Daemon Targaryen, his grandsire had died over the God’s Eye. Would it have an owner once more? But what would Aegon do with a sword? He wasn’t well versed in swordplay, after all.  
  
  
While Aegon was lost in such musings, his father had dismissed the servant and walked over to the cabinet, opening it and bringing out a flanged mace and Aegon’s breath caught in his throat upon seeing it.  
  
  
The mace was and a hand and a half length of solid steel topped with a head with four flanges. The shaft itself was engraved with the Targaryen three-headed dragon near the base and other dragons took flight from the base all the way up the head, on the shaft. The steel was rippled but clearly not Valyrian. Aegon put his hand forward to touch it and his father relinquished his grip on the mace to hand it over to him.  
  
  
The mace itself was heavy, solid steel as it was, and felt incredibly balanced in Aegon’s hands. He gave it a few swings and tried to get used to its weight. Viserys spoke over Aegon’s attempts to break in the mace.  
  
  
“This belonged to my own grandsire, Baelon the Brave. King Jaehaerys had this made for him when he was around your age. It is Qohorik, you see. You can notice the rippled pattern in the steel. Those Qohoriks always try to recreate Valyrian Steel in their forges and this one of the more closer attempts. The steel is not weightless, but it is rust-proof,” Viserys said.  
  
  
“This is very beautiful. And I can tell it will be very useful,” Aegon said, grinning at having gotten a new gift. Viserys nodded and spoke.  
  
“Have you given any thought to what you will do in your exile?”, he asked.   
  
  
Aegon shrugged and answered, “I did not give it much thought. I only received the news of my exile just now. I will be journeying to Essos, I suppose. Perhaps I will join a Free Company. The Stormbreakers is composed entirely of Westerosi, isn’t it? Or the Second Sons, even if I’m not a second son. Gain some glory and riches while I’m at it too, I suppose,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Viserys hummed. “Would it not be better to make the best of your time there? I will send you however much money as you wish for. Joining a Free Company carries a certain amount of risk. Warfare is different from fighting in tourneys or riding down peasants on horses. It would certainly ease my heart to know that you have not perished half a world away, fighting for a cause you do not believe in, and getting paid for it like a common soldier,” Viserys said.  
  
  
“Do you think me incapable of war? Or perhaps you think I am incompetent? Do you believe that I am so incapable of action that I would rather sit on my ass and laze about? I do not need your charity. By the time I return, I will have made a name for myself and return in glory or not return at all. This I swear on, I swear on…, my mother’s soul. Mark my words,” Aegon said hotly and stormed away from his father and back to his chambers, holding his new mace.  
  
  
By the time Aegon returned back to his chambers, he felt very foolish and regretted his words. They were spoken in anger and haste and now he was worried that he might not see his father again. A little dread slowly started to settle in his chest at the thought of not seeing his father again. He hoped his father would forgive him.   
  
  
So lost was he in his musings that he entered his chambers and did not immediately notice that his room was occupied yet again. He was jolted out of his thoughts as he bumped into someone just as he entered into his rooms. He looked up from his thoughts and saw Naerys and Aemon in front of him, with Daeron half behind Aemon.  
  
  
“Well. Out with it. What are you lot doing here?” Aegon demanded, trying and failing to be gruff in his tone.  
  
  
Naerys spoke up. “What happened? You know, with the King and the Small Council. Oh, I prayed for you all day. I’m sure the Father will not allow for you to be unduly punished. You were let go, right?” she asked.  
  
  
Aegon wanted to tell Naerys what he thought of the Father’s judgement but bit back his words, thinking of his rash words to his father. He wanted to be on good terms with his siblings as he left, fearful as he was of his chances in Essos. He addressed all of them at once.  
  
  
“The good news is that I won’t be executed,” Aegon said wryly. Aemon frowned and spoke up.  
  
  
“And, is there a bad news?” Aemon asked, wincing.  
  
  
Aegon decided to tell them directly. There was no use beating about the bush. Aegon spoke.  
  
  
“Yes. The bad news is that I have been exiled from the Seven Kingdoms upon the pain of death for seven years or until uncle dies, whichever comes last. I have been given a week to leave So, I guess I won’t be seeing you lot for a while,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Naerys looked stricken with grief, with tears in her eyes. Aemon’s face was set into a grim visage but Aegon could see his despair and it warmed his heart to know his brother and sister cared for him still. Even Daeron looked tearful at the back, though Aegon did not yet know what he thought of the situation. Then, Daeron spoke up.  
  
  
“It’s all my fault. I forced Baelor,” Daron took a shaky breath and continued, “I forced Baelor to fight in that stupid tourney. I just thought we’d have some fun. Baelor was too dour and I thought having a good fight would cheer him up. And now, he’s gone and you’re also being sent away and it’s all because of me.” Daeron burst into tears.  
  
  
Naerys hugged Daeron and tried to soothe him. She looked towards Aegon, as if pleading him to help and Aegon not knowing what to do, went and put a hand Daeron’s shoulder, trying to comfort him.   
  
  
Eventually, Daeron stopped crying and Aemon spoke up, trying to steer the conversation away from its subject.  
  
  
“Let us go to the yard. We’ll have a little spar and then we can go swimming in the Blackwater. How does that sound, Daeron?” Aemon said, and Daeron nodded his assent, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve.  
  
  
Aemon and Naerys went ahead and Aegon hung back, walking with Daeron, his arm still wrapped around Daeron’s shoulders. Aegon spoke to Daeron, hoping to comfort him.  
  
  
“It isn’t your fault, you know. I am as much to blame as you are, if not more. Don’t blame yourself for this. Sometimes, things are out of our hands and all we can do is react to events as they pass us. So, try not to feel bad about this,” Aegon said and Daeron nodded, though his eyes were still red and puffy. Aegon continued to speak, pointing to his mace.  
  
  
“Here, you can use my mace in your fight against Aemon, if you can lift it. I don’t think I’ll join you in the yard now, but I’ll be joining you when we go swimming,” Aegon said. Daeron excitedly took the mace from Aegon and predictably was unable to lift it and instead dragged it all the way to the yard.  
  
  
Aegon took a seat on one of the benches in the yard noticing that his father was nowhere to be seen. He sat with Naerys while Daeron and Aemon padded themselves up and got tourney swords, Daeron having given up on the mace after dragging it all the way to the yard. Aegon watched them fight, shouting encouragements along with Naerys.  
  
  
Daeron and Aemon only swiped at each other either very weakly or very wide, both of them obviously afraid of hurting the other, the events of the tourney still fresh in their mind. Aegon was watching each of them as they tried to overpower the other, having locked their blades, when his vision went white with pain as he felt something strike his forehead and cried out sharply.  
  
  
Aegon clutched his head and felt blood pooling underneath his fingers. He opened his eyes and saw the culprit - Daena.  
  
  
She was standing in a corner of the yard, having come in without anyone seeing and Aegon’s eyes met with hers and saw a look of hatred in her eyes. Daeron and Aemon saw her just as Aegon did and Daeron walked over to her angrily.  
  
  
“Daena! What are you doing? Did you throw that rock at Aegon?” Daeron demanded.  
  
  
Daena looked defiantly at Daeron and shouted back at Daeron,” He killed Baelor and you’re being all friends with him? I hate him and I hate you!” Daena burst into tears and ran away.  
  
  
Aegon pushed Naerys away, who was fretting over his cut and looked up feeling eyes on him. He looked to the courtyard overlooking the yard and saw the Queen, who stared back at him before turning and walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Daena appears! Before anyone goes off to judge her, remember that she is still a child. A very young child. 
> 
> Anyways, please let me know what you think of this. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback. And thank you for reading!


	9. Aemon II

153 AC

  
**Aemon**

  
Aemon stood in the throne room of the Red Keep, Naerys by his side. The hall was packed and excited murmurs were heard all around. The King had called for an announcement and he was here personally to deliver the news. Aemon fidgeted with the hilt of Dark Sister as he looked around the hall. The sword had been granted to him by the King personally when he had knighted Aemon only a few moons past. A knight at seventeen! Aemon still felt excited when he thought of it.

  
Looking around, Aemon’s eyes finally fell upon the figure of his uncle, who was slouched upon the Iron Throne and seemed disinterested in the proceedings. Aemon’s own father sat at the base of the Throne in a chair put up specially for him. Aemon caught his father’s eye and Viserys nodded at him and then motioned to a goldcloak standing by the Throne.

  
The guard nodded and beat his iron-shod spear upon the ground, creating a huge din in the cavernous chamber which silenced the crowd. King Aegon looked up from his thoughts and spoke.

  
"You may be seated," he said, and the nobility who had gathered there, most form the Crownlands, but some from even further beyond, sat down on temporary wooden galleries erected on either side of the great hall. Once everyone had been seated, the King addressed the hall.

  
"It does me great pleasure to bring this news to you and to the realm as a whole. Even as we speak, the Grandmaester has been busy sending ravens to all corners of our realm and further beyond to spread this good news. I am proud to announce that the Queen is with child and the realm shall bear witness to its new prince early next year," the King said and the hall exploded into cheers and applause.

  
Many in the hall tried to make their way to the King to congratulate him personally. The Queen herself was not present but many of the ladies who had come to the Capital and the Red Keep to hear the news had latched onto Naerys instead, hoping to gain some more information. As Naerys found herself in the middle of a sea of ladies, she sent a pleading look to Aemon who only smirked wickedly in return.

  
Truth be told, Aemon was as surprised as the rest of the hall at the announcement of the Queen's pregnancy. The notification of some grand announcement had only been sent out to the Crownlords a week back but Aemon had just been knighted then. He had spent his days in the yard, showing off Dark Sister to the knights and squires and his nights with Naerys, in their bedchamber. That thought brought a silly smile to his face.

  
Aemon walked over to his father, who stood by the King greeting the lords and ladies who had come over to the base of the Throne to address their liege in person. He saw Lord Lothston, who had come all the way from Harrenhal. Aemon had heard tell that his wife was with child and wondered how Aegon would feel about that. As he reached his father, he heard the last bits of whatever Lord Lothston had to say.

  
“... and may your child be a masculine child, your Grace,” Lucas Lothston said and bowed to the King, taking his leave. Aemon moved forward to speak with his uncle when he caught Daeron’s eye. Daeron was standing near the doors of the hall and was speaking with Lord Alyn Velaryon. Daeron motioned for Aemon to join them and left the hall. Aemon followed.

  
Daeron and Lord Velaryon took a long and circuitous route before going into the library, where they sent one of the Grandmaester’s assisstants outside and ordered the guard on duty not to let anyone inside under any circumstances. Daeron and Lord Velaryon went over to a corner of the library and sat at a table hidden half behind bookshelves but with a clear look of the door to see if anyone came inside.

  
Aemon sat with them and spoke, their business seeming very secretive and thus arousing his curiosity. “So, what’s all of this about? And why the need for this secrecy?” Aemon inquired.

  
Lord Velaryon answered. “What you are about to hear must not be repeated again elsewhere and certainly not outside this group. Before we tell you anything, you need to swear your silence," he said.

  
Aemon lost his good cheer. What was happening? And why was Daeron plotting things together with the Oakenfist, sulking about like spies? Daeron seemed to have noticed Aemon's hesitance and tried to reassure him.

  
"It isn't something very illegal or anything like that. It's just, we don't want father to hear of this. He's made his opinion clear on the matter and our endeavor is contrary to his proclamation, so we can't let this get out. You see the need for secrecy, don't you?" Daeron said.

  
Aemon nodded. He didn't think Daeron would do anything to go against his father's word. Aemon acquiesced and swore on the Father and the Mother and the Crone to keep their secret until he went to his grave and to not reveal them except when allowed to.

  
Lord Velaryon nodded, satisfied and spoke. "The realm today is very disunited. The wounds of the Dance have only scabbed over but they are yet to be healed. Normally, time would set right the wrongs of the Dance but for one small issue - the King," Lord Velaryon said.

  
He saw the look on Aemon's face and continued hurriedly. " It is not that he is in the wrong. The King's reign has seen the realm prosper and the smallfolk happy. But there remains a major problem. Through the consequences of events out of his control, our King has lived in a state of melancholy nearly his whole life. This has led him to do away with the pomp and splendour of the earlier court of King Viserys."

  
"This state of affairs is not without it's problems. The King is not charismatic and his dealings with the nobility do not endear him to them. He is seen as a dour and grim man. The death of the last dragon a few moon's past has also done nothing to improve his reputation. He has gained the moniker of Dragonbane, which the smallfolk whisper over their ale, seeing the reigns of Jaehaerys and Viserys through a rose-tinted window as the ideal and our liege as ineffectual."

  
"If the discontent was limited only to the smallfolk, we would have not had any problems. As they are now, the smallfolk pose no threat. But our King fails to court the nobility of the realm too and this is the bigger issue. The lack of a royal progress has, after this long time, become the norm. Other than the very old no one even remembers a royal progress. No, the main issue is that our King does not care for the nobility."

  
"Perhaps his reticence is due to him believing the lords of the realm and their scheming being the cause of the Dance. Or perhaps, he thinks that giving the realm peace would be enough to satisfy them. As things stand, however, we have a realm full of unsatisfied lords with very little oversight from the Crown."

  
"The North won us the Dance but the Pact of Fire and Ice remains unfulfilled. The Vale gained nothing but death for their support. The Reach grows ever powerful and is left unchecked, with the Hightowers' new bank making them only prosperous. Meanwhile, the Lord Baratheon's ear has been poisoned against us by his mother, the lady Elenda, who seeks vengeance for her second husband's death at the hands of the Dornish. The fact that her family lands are in direct path of the Dornish raiders only exacerbates the matter. And who knows what the Lannisters are up to?"

  
"What if these same lords were to decide today that instead of being ruled by a distant King who cares not for them, they would rather be ruled by their own overlords. What if Loren Lannister decides tomorrow that he'd rather be King of the Rock than now to a weak, dragon-less monarch. How long until Cregan Stark's son decides to become the King in the North rather than bow to Southron rule. I've heard tell that the North remembers. If so, I pray they do not remember that they bent the knee on pain of dragon fire," the Oakenfist concluded.

  
"So, we wish to strengthen the Crown's position then?" Aemon asked. "How do we aim to do that? I suppose you have a plan and that you need my help in this task?"

  
Daeron spoke then. " The solution is simple. We do what even Aegon the Conqueror was unable to. We conquer Dorne at sword point through Fire and Blood. We unite the Kingdoms for our sake and against a common enemy. We show them that we are the only ones suited for the Throne, Iron or otherwise, with or without dragons."

  
Aemon gaped at them. The task was audacious and Aemon knew his uncle was opposed to any conflict with Dorne, not wanting to see any war in his lifetime again. His inaction, however, did paint him in a bad light and Aemon had to concede that no King was a true King if he failed to protect his subjects.

  
The Oakenfist took over. "This, of course, will have to be done when Daeron's the King. By conquering Dorne and accomplishing Aegon's objective, we paint Daeron as Aegon the Dragon come again, the quintessential Targaryen monarch and the true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms in name and in practice," Lord Velaryon said.

  
Aemon looked to Daeron who had turned red at being compared to the Conqueror and hoped Daeron would not let this get to his head. He asked another doubt which had been bothering him for a while. "Can we count on the other Kingdoms for help? Are they willing to come when called after so long without any oversight?"

  
Daeron spoke. " In this matter, as of now, with no prior consultation, all of the Marcher lords in both the Stormlands and the Reach would support us. If pushed, Lord Olyvar Baratheon would rouse the whole of the Stormlands for his mother's family suffers at the hands of the Dornish raiders. They would come if only for a chance to wipe out the Wyls. The Reach would come running for the sake of martial honour, even though I still have my doubts about the Hightowers. As for the rest, we still need to engage in talks for that matter. I, we, cannot hope that they would come when called. We need to be sure of their obedience," he said.

  
Aemon nodded and spoke, "And what of the Free Cities? Can we count on them to not interfere?"

  
The Oakenfist replied, "This is where your brother comes in. After leaving for his exile, he has spent very little time in any Free Company. He served in the Second Son's very early into his exile but left it not too soon after. I met him under the guise of a voyage to Volantis and explained the situation and our plan. He has agreed to it, of course and we met in Tyrosh. Aegon told me that he had made friends with the First Sword of Braavos and assures me that he'd be able to prevent their entrance into any war we'd have with the Dornish, though methinks they'd not do so anyway. They are too far away to care."

  
"Volantis is too far away and thus would not interfere but that still leaves Myr, Tyrosh and Lys. Aegon came up with an idea to take care of Lys which I have to admit can be done if played right. That still leaves Tyrosh and Myr which is something we have to tackle in the future."

  
Aemon grew curious. What was this plan his brother had hatched? He asked as such and the Oakenfist replied.

  
"Aegon believes that a marriage to the daughter of one of Lys's magisters should do the trick. Unlike Myr, this magister in Lys is from an ancient Valyrian family. Though they were never Dragon Lords, unlike the Targaryens, they are nonetheless very distinguished. Aegon proposed that he would marry the daughter in order to serve the family's needs, though he also seemed quite taken with her. I believe that Viserys would not object to such a match should he know the reason for it."

  
Aemon wondered about this plan of his brother's and how much this was influenced by his brother's feelings for whomever that woman was. He addressed the Oakenfist.

  
"Lord Velaryon, has my brother told you of his plans? Of what he means to do over the course of his exile?" Aemon asked.

  
"Yes, and I advised him to do what would benefit our plans the most. Aegon will be joining the Stormbreakers. The company is still mostly Westerosi and Ser Oscar Tully still leads it. Aegon hopes to have become the second in command of the company by the time of Dorne's Conquest, if Ser Oscar does not die yet by that time. If he dies, Aegon hopes to lead the Company. That would require him to serve continuously for years and puts him at significant risk but Aegon was adamant in this," Lord Velaryon replied.

  
Then, Daeron continued, "Either way, he'd bring us around a thousand to two thousand men and that would not be insignificant. If Ser Oscar does come back to Westeros, his brother would be grateful to Aegon and us by extension. We need not rely on oaths to do the job for us and retain his loyalty. "

  
"Ser Oscar might be a proud man, but he would back away from a fight, even if it would bring him back to his brother. They have bad blood between them but Lord Tully is anxious for a reconciliation which is what we give him," Lord Velaryon said.

  
Aemon nodded and spoke, "So what do you need me for?"

  
"You, young Aemon will be our agent in the Red Keep. Daeron is too young to sway the lords to our cause. He is yet to master diplomacy and he would not be taken at his word before he is of age. But you, you are the youngest knight in a century and you wield Dark Sister. You have a not insignificant reputation and all you have to do is use it," Lord Velaryon said.

  
Just then, the guard from outside stepped in and informed of the gathering in the Throne room ending and they realized that this place might not be secure anymore.

  
Daeron spoke, "I think that we should adjourn for now. Let us meet again later, when the Red Keep is busy once more. Perhaps on Father's Day, the next week?"

  
Lord Velaryon nodded and father's his cloak around him and stood up, preparing to leave. He rummaged around in his doublet and produced an envelope, before giving it to Aemon.

  
"Your brother gave this to me when we met in Tyrosh. It is a letter for you and your wife. Now, I need to go and present myself to the King before I leave. Do give my regards to Naerys," Lord Velaryon said and walked away.

  
"Very well Daeron. I will do as you say. I believe you will send me further information on when and where to meet?" Aemon asked and Daeron agreed before both of them left the library.

  
As Aemon walked to his chambers, he felt as if he had mentally ran all the way to the Wall. Aemon walked into his rooms and saw Naerys standing by the window looking outside. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, causing her to turn around. He was about to tell her of Aegon's letter when she spoke.

  
"Aemon, I have something I wish to tell you," she said as she chewed over her lip and Aemon kissed her, unable to resist. She pushed him away and continued to speak.

  
"I visited the Grandmaester yesterday," she said and Aemon grew worried. Naerys was always sickly ever since she was very young and Aemon could not help but worry over her. Ever since they were going and played Lords and Ladies, Aemon had always felt that Naerys was his responsibility and tried to make her happy.

  
"Are you unwell? Is it serious?" Aemon asked.

  
"No. It's nothing like that. It appears that I am with child," Naerys said, a slight smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few important changes in this chapter. We leave canon behind and go into uncharted territory. Any comments, complaints and feedback? Please let me know. Yes, I stole a line from the Godfather.
> 
> Anyways, please let me know what you think of this. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback. And thank you for reading!


	10. Ser Oscar Tully

155 AC, Somewhere near the Southern Coast of the Disputed Lands.

_**The Commander of the Stormbreakers** _

Ser Oscar Tully was seated on his horse on top of a small hillock overlooking the battlefield as the carnage unfolded below. Somewhere in that melee was his squire, the young Aegon Targaryen, most likely whacking about with his mace and felling the soldiers. Ser Oscar felt no fear for his squire’s life, the battle was won anyways and the broken remnants of the Tyroshi army were being run down.

To his side was Caegal Nograthien, the Gonfaloniere of the Lyseni army. Oscar would never understand the Free Cities’ inclination to fight over the worthless strips of these lands that they called the Disputed Lands. They had fought in these lands so often that the devastation had left the lands uncultivable and even if the land were to become suddenly fertile, no smallfolk would want to settle down in these parts.

“You see down there, how my goodson is carving his way through the filthy Tyroshi? Saagael of the Pain blesses his weapon and guides his hand in this!” Caegal said. Oscar knew that Aegon was betrothed to Nograthien’s daughter but he also knew that Prince Viserys did not really know of this match yet. All of this reeked in the same way that Prince Viserys’s marriage to Larra Rogare did, but Oscar did not wish to involve himself in these matters.

“They are not married yet. Your daughter is but twelve and she isn’t flowered. Even by your standards, you would have to wait for four years and that is nothing to say of what Aegon’s father has to say of this match,” Oscar observed lightly.

The Gonfaloniere laughed, a rich, deep, belly laugh and spoke, “No worries on that matter, my mercenary friend. I have word from Aegon’s cousin, who will grant permission for their marriage once he ascends to the Iron Throne. There is no reason for worry in that regard.”

Oscar grunted and chose not to involve himself in the topic any further. Rather, he turned to view the field of battle, where the fighting seemed to have died down. Oscar spied the distinctive form of his squire riding up the hillock, his silvery gold hair blowing in the slight breeze that had picked up. Why he had forgone a helmet Oscar would never know. His squire had a wont to do the stupidest of things when it least benefited him.

Aegon reached them and dismounted before bowing to them in a flourish causing Nograthien to grin and Oscar to scowl. Aegon smiled at both of them and spoke, “We have vanquished the enemy Ser Oscar. Yet another victory for our glorious band!” Aegon half-japed.

“Magnificent! With this, we gain a foothold in the mainland. With Saagael smiling upon us, we will soon reclaim our rightful lands which have been cheated out of our hands by the filthy Tyroshi,” Caegal exclaimed.

“We must not lose our caution going forward, Gonfaloniere. Overconfidence has been the band of many a campaign here in the disputed lands. These lands we have just occupied serve us better if they were fortified and put to use as a launching point for further expansion," Oscar advised.

Caegal frowned and addressed him, "The Conclave of Magisters has entrusted me with the task of securing the Disputed lands as soon as possible and with minimal loss. I think it would be counterproductive to not push after our victory here."

Aegon jumped in to try and defend Oscar's point and explain his reasoning to Caegal. "It is not that we won't push forward, my lord. Rather, we have a more pressing need to fortify to prevent the bulk of the Tyroshi army, which is still in the field in the hinterlands, from pushing us out of our gains. Once we are fortified and have brought troops from Lys to secure our rear, the Stormbreakers can push forward," Aegon said, pointing towards the North.

"Very well then, the Stormbreakers will stay here and start the construction of fortifications while we go back to Lys. The word of our victory will have reached the Conclave by the time we get back and we might even have a triumph waiting for us," the Gonfaloniere declared.

Just as they were talking, a messenger ran up to them and bowed before coming closer to whisper something in Caegal Nograthien's ear. Upon hearing this news, whatever it was, his frown turned into an expression of delight and he turned towards Oscar and Aegon addressing them.

"Great news, my friend! This runner here brings me a message all the way from Lys. My daughter has flowered from a girl into the woman she will become and there shall be three days of celebrations in honour of Yndros of the Twilight. The last day of celebrations will include a display of martial vigour and you must show me and us of Lys of your own jousting. I insist on this," Caegal said, grinning.

Oscar sighed. He only put up with these Lysene because they paid quite a few degrees better than any other of his clientele. He turned to Aegon and saw that his squire was looking at him hopefully. He wanted to impress his betrothed, no doubt, with his 'martial vigour'.

"Just as well. I must speak with the Conclave in regards to my payments and the distribution of these spoils. I shall leave my foot here under the command of one of my knights and bring the rest to Lys. Perhaps a display of the Westerosi martial capabilities will induce your Conclave to pay me better," Oscar said, while pointing towards the arms and armour of the Tyroshi which had been looted from their bodies and placed in a pile near them.

"They already do, my friend, they already do," Caegal said, laughing.

* * *

The whole of Lys the Lovely seemed to be in a celebratory mood. The news of their victory had indeed arrived before they had and many Lysene had taken to the streets to welcome their party. The Conclave had even arranged for children to line the rooftops and shower flower petals on them as they walked through the gate and upon the main thoroughfare leading to the Magisterial Palace. It was no triumph and a rather empty honour as far as honours went.

Oscar looked to Caegal who played the crowds with practised ease, waving his hand around and drawing further cheers with a few well-placed words as the party made their way slowly forward on their horses through the crowd. Oscar, Caegal and Aegon led the front with twelve other knights bringing up the rear while a van loaded with the loot from the battle was dragged in between them.

Oscar saw that Aegon was drinking in the sights and exulting in the adulation that the crowd was heaping upon him and Caegal and by association, Aegon himself. Despite being a prince of the realm, Oscar figured that Aegon should be unused to this sort of praise from the crowds as King's Landing. Aegon the Third was not a martially inclined King and in all of his years ruling the realm Oscar had not heard a peep of any war or even retaliation against the Dornish. It was one of the reasons Oscar left, after all. He found five years after the Dance that peace did not agree with him.

Soon, they reached the Magisterial Palace where the First Magister was waiting for them. The party dismounted and made their way to the First Magister, a pompous Lyseni whose name Oscar did not care to remember. Oscar gestured for his knights to stay back with the carts while he stepped forward with Caegal and Aegon. The First Magister gave a long-winded speech to the assembled crowd who cheered and applauded at appropriate places. Then he bestowed a gaudy, golden medallion upon the Gonfaloniere for 'services rendered in the reclamation of Lysene Honour' and finally ended the damned ceremony after which they made they way to Caegal's manse.

There, Caegal made his excuses and left them in the care of his slaves while he went to see to his daughter. The slaves led the knights to their assigned rooms, with Aegon sharing Oscar's room, being his squire and all. Once inside and settled, Aegon turned to Oscar and spoke.

"Ser Oscar? There is something I wish to tell you," Aegon said.

"What is it? Do you need some advice in dealing with your girl? Don't ask me about that, I didn't marry anyone and I never understood them anyway. Or, you want to ask about fucking I suppose. Why when I was your age, I had already bedded a few wenches, but it isn't too late for you yet. We can go to one of these Lysene pleasure houses if you so wish. The service is there is exquisite and as long as you don't have any enemies you don't even need to worry about being assassinated," Oscar said and grinned when he saw the boy turn red with embarrassment and indignation.

"No! It's not about that. And I have bedded a woman, I'll have you know," Aegon said quickly before wincing and continuing in a softer tone. "It's just, we are going to be jousting for the festival, won't we?"

"Yes. All of us knights and the squires too. We don't have enough men for a proper tourney and the squires will have to compete to swell the numbers. I assume you have been taught how to joust?" Oscar asked.

Aegon shook his head, and spoke, "Well, this is what I wanted to speak with you about. I do know how to joust. I think. It's just, I haven't been able to practice at it for a long time and I was hoping you would be able to help me with it."

"What do you know? Have you ever tilted at a quintain in the yard? If you can hold your lance steady, the rest comes naturally. Come, let us go to a meadow or a field and you can ride at some targets I'll have the slaves set up. We have three days left, four if Nograthien starts his celebrations tomorrow. I will show you the technique and you can practice it for these days. If you're lucky, you won't die from a fall," Oscar said.

And so, they made their way over to a field belonging to Caegal and set up a target. Oscar let Aegon ride without the target for a while giving him pointers on holding the lance steady. If they were in Westeros, they could have had an armourer fashion them a lance holder for their breastplates but as things were Aegon had to learn to hold the lance steady on his own and Oscar reckoned that was better in the long run.

After that, Oscar and Aegon ran a few tilts against each other using the tourney lances that the slaves were fashioning for the tourney, to get Aegon used to the force of the blows and Oscar made sure to hit Aegon harder than he usually did in tourneys to let Aegon get a taste of the tourney blows. If Aegon were to face off against Ser Harrold Ryger in the tourney, Oscar would bet he'd take harder hits than these. It was then that Oscar noticed a fatal flaw in Aegon's technique.

"Aegon, when you face your opponent in the joust, you have to bow your head down just as they strike you. If you don't, the slivers of the shattered lance could force their way through your visor or the gaps in your gorget and your lady would be a widow before you'd even have a chance to marry her," Oscar said.

"But that doesn't even make any sense. How can she become a widow if I won't marry her?" Aegon asked.

Irritated, Oscar smacked Aegon upside the head and said, "Focus on your technique. It is the small things like these that have killed better jousters that you. I don't want to explain why you ended up dead to your lord father. You can do that yourself."

Aegon nodded then smirked and said, "But Ser, how would I explain things to my father if I were dead?" Aegon ducked away as Oscar tried to smack him again and started riding towards the target to practice. Oscar chuckled and left the field, leaving Aegon to practice alone.

* * *

The day of the joust dawned bright and clear and Oscar took it as a good omen. His negotiations with the First Magister were later in the day after the Conclave met to decide the course to be taken in the war against the Tyroshi, a meeting Caegal was not attending in favour of staying for his daughter's celebrations instead. A huge field, just outside the city, had been cleared and flattened by slaves working for the past few days. A luxurious gallery had been erected for seating the Nograthien family and their guests with the daughter occupying the central position. Oscar figured that the Nograthien star was rising, looking at this extravagance and he was suddenly reminded of how quickly the Rogares themselves had fallen from grace.

The last day of the celebrations started off well enough with the slaves showing off their naked wrestling, Caegal having promised freedom for the winner. As expected the slaves fell over one another and tore each other apart, with gouged out eyes and broken noses and missing teeth for a chance at freedom. In the end, the winner was a robust slave with Valyrian white hair who had defeated his enemy by bashing his head in with a rock. He had a huge scratch running around the side of his face where another slave had scratched him with his long nails.

As the slave was being rewarded with his freedom, his copper collar being struck off and his facial tattoo being branded over, the rest of the slaves started to put up the lists and the pavilion for the knights. To increase the duration of the jousts, only one line for tilting at in the lists had been set up and the tourney was divided into two brackets.

The knights and squires were divided into two equal halves at random. The first half would tilt against each other, their opponents chosen by lots and then the second half would tilt among themselves with the winner of each bracket going on to tilt against each other for the glory of winning the tourney.

Oscar himself was in the second bracket but Aegon was in the first and Oscar wanted to see if Aegon had practised at all after he had left. Aegon's turn came up and he faced off against a squire who he managed to dispatch with ease, as Oscar expected, unhorsing him on the second lance and claiming the victory.

Aegon's second opponent was Ser Denys Bracken, a distant cousin of the Lord of Stone Hedge. He was not very much older than Aegon was but becoming a knight at his age had given him a measure of arrogance. As the riders touched their lances together in salute before the tilt, Aegon leaned forward and whispered something to Denys whose face turned red in anger and he quickly turned his horse away and rode to his end of the lists while Aegon smirked and rode to his end no doubt satisfied with having goaded the young knight.

They rode at each other in a thunder of horses and steel and Oscar saw that the young Serenei was spellbound at this display. Martial vigour indeed. Oscar turned his attention to Aegon noticed that the riders we're almost upon each other. They met with a bang and a shower of shards exploded around them. Denys hit Aegon square on the chest but Aegon hit Denys on his helm the flap of which broke open at the force of the blow and flew off of his head even as a few slivers of wood embedded themselves in his face. Denys screamed and fell off his horse in shock and pain, granting victory to Aegon.

As the bleeding Denys was taken to the healer's tent by slaves Aegon raised his broken lance in triumph, giving a sort of salute to his betrothed in the stands, who, not one to be outdone, threw a red rose at him which Aegon caught and secured in the plume of his helm. Oscar snorted at this display of frippery but the crowd ate it up and cheered even louder.

A few more tilts passed and Aegon's turn came up again, this time against Ser Jon Harte, a bull of a man. This was yet another knight who would not hold back his blows. If anything, he'd try to hit harder using not only the horse's momentum but his own power. Oscar hoped Aegon would remember to roll with the blow or he'd have a dead squire on his hands, which would be really inconvenient.

A groomsman signalled the start and the riders barreled towards each other and broke their lances on each other's breastplates in a shower of wood. It was then Oscar noticed that Aegon was not lowering his head, leaving his neck and eyes unprotected and from the looks of things Jon had noticed it too. The Harte knight, who had taken off his helm to wipe off his sweat, gave a wolfish grin which Aegon seemed oblivious to.

Having taken new lances from the slaves, the riders rushed forward once more and suddenly Oscar saw with clarity as it happened. Just as Aegon had done in his previous tilt, See Jon Harte chose to aim for Aegon's helm. Unlike Ser Denys however, Aegon's head was raised high and so the lance broke on his helm and the broken piece went through the gap between his gorget and his helm even as his helm broke flew off his head. Oscar saw a piece of wood gouge a deep wound on Aegon's cheek almost all the way up to his eye as Aegon was unhorsed.

As the slaves rushed forward to take Aegon to the healer's tent, Oscar chanced a look at the seating galleries and saw that the Lady Serenei was in tears while her father also looked distraught. How much of it was for the boy and how much for the loss if an alliance should he die, Oscar did not know. At least, the girl's sorrow seemed genuine and even the crowd was sufficiently subdued. Oscar left his pavilion and made his way to the healer's tent.

The healer had just finished examining Aegon and was giving some instructions to his apprentice as Oscar walked in.

"Well?" Oscar inquired.

"He will not lose the eye, which is a blessing. The wound was too close. Just a bit further and he'd be half-blind. As for the cheek, I have yet to fish out the slivers of wood lodged in there. I will wash the wound, but your guess is as good as mine if infection sets in. And he will scar. Significantly," the healer said.

Oscar gave his thanks and left. Things were out of his hands now. But, for the sake of his squire, maybe he'd make a visit to the local Sept. It had been a while since he had prayed anyway. The Gods must miss his presence dearly, that they forced him to visit by injuring his squire.

* * *

Oscar rode back to the manse after his meeting with the First Magister. As he walked to his rooms in the manse, he heard voices coming from inside and stood near the door, trying to listen in.

"... and my nephew, whose first nameday should be coming up. My brother named him Jaehaerys, after the Conciliator. My youngest cousin is also of the same age, and my brother's letter has named him as Aerys, my uncle's choice no doubt," Oscar head Aegon say.

A female voice said something in the Lysene tongue which Oscar approximated as her asking whether Aegon's family would like her. Aegon laughed and answered in the affirmative. Oscar chose to intervene not wanting to listen to this prattle any further. It was positively sickening, the way those two acted, almost as if in love.

"Aegon. You seem well. Did the healer tell you how long you are to be rested?" Oscar asked.

"Ser Oscar! I was telling to Serenei here about my family back in King's Landing. And the healer says that I am to stay in bed for two weeks but I think a week is excessive. I want to get back into the thick of the fighting," Aegon said even as the girl took her leave, placing a kiss on Aegon's unwounded cheek.

"Well, you will have to wait. The Lysene aren't pushing further. They are afraid that the other Free Cities might choose to get involved. They are going to fortify the place we've conquered and sure for peace. Perhaps win a few more battles to improve their position but their goal seems to be to annex the land they have occupied," Oscar said.

"What! But what about us? The Stormbreakers, I mean! We won't have a contract anymore. What'll we do?" Aegon asked, agitated.

"If you are truly worried about contracts, let me tell you that there is no dearth of mercenary work in Essos, especially for a company of our size. And if it is a worry you're feigning for the girl, she'll stay here until you come back. It's not as if you are getting married tomorrow," Oscar said and Aegon deflated. Oscar continued speaking.

"Chin up, lad. We'll win these battles for the Lyseni and then we can think of what we'll do later. For now, all you can do is rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very fun to write and I like Oscar as a POV character. I also find it somewhat funny that Gonfaloniere is an actual Lysene title that GRRM used.
> 
> If you have any questions, suggestions or complaints, please let me know. I live off of feedback in every form


	11. Lotho Antaryon

157 AC, Braavos  
  
  
 ** _The First Sword of Braavos_**  
  
  
Lotho Antaryon observed from one of the balconies overlooking the Main Hall in the Sealord’s Palace as His Excellency, Dormeo Prestayn, overlooked the proceedings with a disinterested eye. Lotho was seeing to his men placed around the hall when the herald stepped in to announce a new petitioner.  
  
  
“Presenting the honourable commander of the Free Company of the Stormbreakers, the Scourge of the Dothraki, the Defender of Yunkai, Ser Oscar Tully and his royal squire, the Prince Aegon Targaryen of Westeros.”  
  
  
Through the open doors, the pair walked in, flanked by a couple of Lotho’s own men and followed by three more of the Westeros knights, all of their party having donned the heavy armour characteristic of the Westerosi sans their helms and with their hands on the pommels of the swords hanging from their hips, so unlike the Braavosi arms that Loth was seized by a sudden urge to swing one around himself.  
  
  
Lotho wasn’t worried about anything they might try in the Hall, for it would spell their own death and would not work in their favour either way. The Sealord sat upon his carved chair on a raised dais just below a massive stained window depicting the slaves fleeing from Valyria and just far enough away from any of the petitioners that Lotho’s men would have ample time to shoot them full of crossbow bolts before they even reached within an arm’s length of the Sealord. If he were being entirely honest, Lotho wouldn’t have cared if the damned Prestayn died right now if not for the question of his own competency arising at him letting the Sealord die as the First Sword stood by.  
  
  
The Tully knight bowed deeply before the Sealord, prompting his squire and the other knights to do the same and then spoke about their campaign in the coastline near the Lorathi Bay and the Hills of Norvos. They had achieved a great victory over the Lorathi, who had tried to encroach upon the mainland with a great force that they had seemingly conjured out of thin air. The Tully knight then ceded ground to one of his own knights who started waxing poetic about the perils of fighting the Lorathi and their losses and so on and on but Lotho wasn’t paying attention to any of that.  
  
  
He looked to Aegon, who had somehow gained a deep scar running down his right cheek from just below his eye and Lotho suddenly wanted to know how he had gotten that scar, deep as it was. Then, Aegon’s purple eyes met his own and Aegon smirked, which sent a jolt through Lotho’s stomach and he smiled back at Aegon, before turning away, his heart racing. Lotho tried to focus on what was being said and caught the end of a long speech by one of Tully’s knights after which the Sealord stood up to address the hall, obviously pleased.  
  
  
“In honour of this great victory which our friends have brought for us and in celebration of the protection of the Braavosi territorial integrity, the entirety of Braavos shall be in celebration tomorrow. And during the night, we shall hold a banquet for our friends here and all the magisters and the keyholders while the commoners shall feast and make merry for bread and wine shall be made available to them,” the Sealord declared and the hall erupted in applause.  
  
  
The knights and squire bowed once more and made their way out of the Hall and Lotho left his post to follow. By the time he caught up to them, the knights were just outside the Sealord’s Palace and the three had left while the Tully was talking to Aegon. Just as Lotho reached them, the Tully knight started to depart and raised his hand in greeting to Lotho, who did the same. Aegon, his back to Lotho, turned around just as he approached and grinned widely.  
  
  
"Lotho! It has been a while. How has the Sealord been treating you?" Aegon asked.  
  
  
"Ah, you know how the Prestayns are. All full of themselves and this one is no different. Yet, he is the Sealord, and I am the First Sword. Serve him I must, so serve him I shall,” Lotho replied.  
  
  
“Doesn’t your father want to end this feud with the Prestayns? He supported the Sealord’s bid for election a few years ago, if I remember correctly,” Aegon asked.  
  
  
“Well, yes, my father does want for there to be peace between our families. We are the oldest and foremost of all the Braavosi magisters and keyholders, but I will never forgive nor forget. Dormeo killed my cousin in a duel when the both of them were younger and still bravos walking the streets and riding the canals. My father wished to forgive and so my uncle chose to forget, but I am not so easily bought. I remember my cousin well, young though I may have been at the time of his death. That he made me the First Sword was naught but a payment for my father’s help in his election. Nothing more, nothing less. But, let us talk of more pleasant things, Aegon. I trust you are free for the day?” Lotho said.  
  
  
“Oh, yes. Ser Oscar wants us to stay here in Braavos for a week still. If there is any news of any further contracts, either here in Braavos or further beyond in Northern Essos. But forget about all that, did you hear? My uncle’s ship is in port!” Aegon exclaimed.  
  
  
“What, the King of Westeros is here in Braavos? Surely you jape,” Lotho tried to hide his disbelief. How could the King of Westeros come to Braavos without him, the First Sword, catching wind of it? He must truly have become incompetent then.  
  
  
“No. No. Do you think the city would be so drab if the King were to come? Wouldn’t you have heard by now if the King were to visit Braavos? It isn’t him who is here in Braavos, it’s Roggerio Rogare, my mother’s brother. He’s here with the Mermaid’s Daughter,” Aegon said, excitedly as he started to walk away from the Sealord’s palace and along the canals lining the streets. Lotho followed him.  
  
  
“A Rogare? I have to admit, I did not think I would hear that name again. Not after that nasty business with the collapse of their bank and their own downfall. Is he still well off? I assume he’s taken to being a merchant, then?” Loth questioned as they passed by a brothel, a few whores lingering around it, trying to entice customers.  
  
  
“Oh, no, no. He isn’t a merchant. Well, he does trade in wine and spice whenever he docks in any port but the Mermaid’s Daughter is known for other things. It’s a floating Lysene pleasure house if you catch my meaning. I first met him and his ship just after the Dothraki business at Volantis. Then, he was at Yunkai just after their war with the Mereenese. He always had a talent for arriving just after the fighting has ended and making the men merrier,” Aegon said with a grin.  
  
  
“So, in essence, this Mermaid’s Daughter is a huge whorehouse?” Lotho asked.  
  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t be so crude. Think of it as an overly large pleasure barge that sails around the world bringing comfort to the soldiers and sailors and other men who are lonely at ports,” Aegon said, grinning.  
  
  
“Indeed. Well, enough about that. There has been something I’ve been meaning to ask you. What happened to your face? The scar I mean. Was it the Dothraki?” Lotho asked bluntly.  
  
  
“You should watch how you speak Lotho. You were very insulting, asking me what was wrong with my face,” Aegon said seriously, frowning.  
  
  
“I… that is… I had not meant...,” Lotho tried to excuse his behaviour when he noticed Aegon trying to control his laughter and Lotho punched him on his shoulder before speaking, “This is the last time I’ll care about what you have to say.” Lotho turned his nose up at Aegon.  
  
  
“Ah, I jape, I jape. ‘Twas a jest, truly. Come, we are at Ragman’s Harbour. The ship should be docked here somewhere,” Aegon said, laughing and dragged Lotho with him. Lotho allowed himself to be led along and got a good look at the ship docked ahead.  
  
  
The Mermaid’s Daughter was a great ship, larger than most of the ships Lotho had seen in all of his years in Braavos. She had a single huge mast with a purple sail rolled up and a figure of a naked mermaid on her prow. As they got closer, the enormity of the ship pressed itself upon Lotho and he figured it could at least fit at least two hundred soldiers if they forewent provisions, but perhaps much fewer whores. Aegon and Lotho reached the ship, which had two men guarding the gangplank and Aegon slipped them few coins before making their way onto the deck.  
  
  
There on the deck stood a tall man, with classical Valyrian features, silvery-gold hair, violet eyes and a beauty that clung to him the same way it clung to Aegon. He turned to them at their approach and smiled. Lotho suddenly realized that it was the same smile Aegon wore. They walked over to the man and he greeted them before hugging Aegon.  
  
  
“What’s with the face? Did a woman try to scratch out your eye?” the Rogare asked, his grin not leaving his face.  
  
  
“No. Why is everyone asking about it? It was an accident during a joust. We were jousting in Lys honour of some god of theirs, Endros or something, at the celebration of my betrothed’s flowering,” Aegon said and the Rogare’s face darkened and lost it’s grin, though whether it was at the mention of the injury or at the mention of Lys, Lotho did not know.  
  
  
“It is Yndros, Aegon. Ydros of the Twilight, not Endros. And why you keep up with the damned Westerosi games in Essos, I never know. You could marry your girl and stay here in Essos. You already have a name for yourself and the Company. They call you the Sellsword Prince, you know. Listen to me. Don't go back to Westeros. I know how much of a pit of adders the whole place is. You have been given a chance and you need to make the best of it,” the Rogare said.  
  
  
Aegon smiled as if he’d already had this conversation many times before and said, “You know I cannot abandon my family, uncle. And my father is yet to give his assent for my marriage. I cannot just stay here in Essos, fighting one battle after another, just for gold, without believing the cause for which I am fighting. I want to be known as more than just a Sellsword Prince or the Homeless Targaryen or whatever else I am being called.”  
  
  
The Rogare sighed then spoke,” I see that I won’t be able to change your mind on this topic then. Very well, let us forget all that unpleasantness. Go on then, the girls are down below." He waved a hand absently, gesturing below deck before turning towards Lotho. "You as well, young Braavosi. Friends of Aegon are friends of mine.”  
  
  
Lotho shook his head. "I don't think I'll be able to find my tastes met here. I am very specific about my preferences," Lotho said carefully. The Lyseni were known for their ability to cater to a wide variety of desires, after all. He hoped this Rogare was the same.  
  
  
"Ah, yes. Come with me. I'm sure we can find something to your tastes," the Rogare said, with a knowing smile on his face. He put his arm around Lotho's shoulders and steered him towards the other end of the deck and led him down another set of stairs opposite to where Aegon had gone and Lotho found that the Mermaid's Daughter did indeed cater to his tastes.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next night found Lotho once more in the Sealord's Palace, looking over the Ballroom as he had looked over the Main Hall the previous day. A celebration would make no difference on the execution of his duties. Rather, it made work all the more difficult for his men. His men were spread thin trying to anticipate where the Sealord might be and whom he might interact with. The Palace guards themselves were of no help beyond the obvious as they stayed only in the portions of the Palace that were open to everyone this night.  
  
  
While the highborn guests were dancing down below, the Sealord was seated at a large table placed near the far end of the room. He was speaking with everyone and anyone who had a need to be addressed with four of his guards flanking him. Meanwhile, the guests who were dancing or were feasting with the Sealord at the table were all masked, making it difficult to identify who was a friend and who was a foe.  
  
  
Lotho spied a flash of bright silver hair in the dancing crowd and closer inspection revealed a deep scar that ran down from under an ornate, golden half-mask that hid only the height of his cheekbones. Lotho leaned down from the balcony and the purple eyes behind the mask confirmed that it was Aegon. He was dancing with some woman who looked to be around his own age and Lotho recognized her as Dormeo's sister. She had her hand on Aegon's face, tracing his scar while Aegon held her close, his arm tight around her waist. This sight sent a lance of burning hot jealousy through Lotho's chest and he gripped bannister of the balcony tight in anger. Aegon, who must have felt Lotho's eyes upon him turned to him, grinned and winked before continuing his dance with the tramp. Lotho turned away.  
  
  
When he looked back to the floor, Aegon was gone and he spied the pair just as they left the hall, the wanton whore giggling from her place in Aegon's arms. Lotho spied a wineskin, which someone must have left on the balcony. He took it and gave it a shake. It was fairly large and seemed to be mostly full. Lotho took a sip and swirled it around his mouth. It tasted pretty good, like the Dornish sweet he had once had when an ambassador of the Principality had come to visit only a year prior. Satisfied with the taste, Lotho started to down it trusting that his men would protect the Sealord without his oversight.  
  
  
He had finished around three-fourths of the wineskin and the music and dancing seemed to be going on forever when he heard someone approach him from behind and turned around. It was Aegon. He looked really pale, if it was possible, but also looked excited about something. He was looking for someone and when his eyes fell on Lotho, recognition flashed through Aegon’s eyes along with what looked like relief. Aegon walked towards Lotho with a sense of purpose and his heart started to beat faster.  
  
  
“Lotho. There is a matter of utmost importance I must speak with you about. I would have spoken to Ser Oscar about it, but he is nowhere to be found and I feel he wouldn’t understand my need,” Aegon said and Lotho nodded dumbly his head spinning.  
  
  
“Come with me, I wish to speak with you somewhere more privately,” Aegon continued and dragged Lotho from his post and deeper into the Palace and towards the Sealord’s apartments. The pair walked right up to the Sealord’s apartments and some part of Lotho’s mind was horrified at the lack of guards. Aegon stopped him just as they were outside the doors leading into the Sealord’s personal solar.  
  
  
“When I was with the Sealord’s sister, she took me to his apartments here in the palace to ensure that we wouldn’t be disturbed. There are no guards here and that gave me the chance to discover something. Something which would help me right a wrong and bring justice to a crime against my family,” Aegon said. Lotho did not grasp what Aegon was trying to say but he nodded his head nonetheless, wanting Aegon to not stop talking.  
  
  
“Before we continue further, I want to have your word. You are my friend and a very close one at that, but this is not something I would ask of anyone. In helping me in this endeavour, you will be going against the Sealord. Tell me now if you would be obligated to move against me and I will implicate you in this no further,” Aegon said, this time his face serious and searching Lotho for some sort of deception.  
  
  
It was clear to Lotho what he must do. He’d help Aegon in any way he could and ensure whatever he did would not get to the Sealord. He would do it for Aegon, even if this was the only way he could ever help him. Damn this Prestayn and his ways. He’d do whatever it was Aegon asked him of if only to spite Dormeo. Lotho pushed through the haze that had fallen over him and made up his mind. He nodded firmly.  
  
  
“I’ll do it, Aegon. You can depend on me. I care not for the Sealord, you know of this already. If you believe this would help you right a wrong done to your family, I would gladly help you, in any way I can,” Lotho said. He grinned fiercely. Aegon looked at him, trying to discern the truth and finally, he nodded in assent, having believed in Lotho’s sincerity.  
  
  
“What do you know about Elyssa Farman?” Aegon asked. Lotho scratched his head, turning the question over in his mind. He had heard the name, true, but he could not place it. Elyssa Farman. Elyssa. Farman. There was something about her and the Arsenal… no, the Iron Bank.  
  
  
“The dragon eggs…,” Lotho whispered. He saw Aegon’s face set in determination. This was Lotho’s chance. He could prove himself to Aegon and deal a huge blow to Prestayn at the same time. Once news of this gets out, and Lotho would personally ensure that it spread, Dormeo would be humiliated.  
  
  
“Yes. I cannot allow for this insult to stand. The Sealord parades his stolen bounty in his personal solar like a bandit. I would not even have found out but for his sister’s preferences. She wished for me to take her on her brother’s desk. I wonder if it was a way for her to get one up over him,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Aegon pushed open the doors to the Sealord’s solar. Lotho had never been in here before, despite being the First Sword. Dormeo had never called Lotho in here for any of his purposes, perhaps sensing the animosity he held. The pair entered the room and Lotho got his first look of the solar. It was sumptuously appointed and very large even by the standards of the rest of the Palace and most of it was gilded in a display of the wealth Braavos commanded. The thought of all of this wealth in Dormeo’s hands, a visual reminder of the power he wielded, despite his crimes, rankled Lotho.  
  
  
Just beside the door was a massive glass cabinet. Its edges were gilded and gem-encrusted with its glass being the clearest Lotho had ever seen. A gift from Myr, he was sure of it. And in the centre of the cabinet, on specially made holders were three huge, scaly eggs. The dragon eggs. The far window was open and a shaft of moonlight fell on them. Lotho marvelled at their beauty.  
  
  
The one on the left was the deepest of blue, as the sea near Pentos Lotho remembered seeing when he was younger and had gone on voyages with his cousin. The rightmost egg was a mottled green, of the marshlands just beyond the city. But it was the one in the centre that was the most breath-taking. It was of the deepest black, of the colour of the doors of the House of Black and White. Lotho had been there only once, with his father, when he had gone on some business that Lotho was still not made privy to.  
  
  
Aegon lit a few candles on the far wall and the light fell on the eggs. The black egg was not black, but red. A deep, dark red of the kind that pools around a man’s head when he is struck from behind. Lotho had seen it but once, when his cousin lay dying on the streets of Braavos and he had looked on helplessly.  
  
  
Aegon nudged him, jolting Lotho out of his stupor.  
  
  
“We need to get these out quickly. We don’t know if anyone might come here,” Aegon said.  
  
  
There was an urgent tone to his voice and Lotho complied. He took out his dagger and pushed it into the gap between the cabinet’s doors. A flick of the dagger and the lock was undone. The mechanism was rather crude for the intricacy of the cabinet. The Sealord must not have feared thieves this deep in his sanctum. The doors were opened and Aegon wasted no time grabbing the three eggs, struggling to hold on to all of them at the same time.  
  
  
“Give one of them to me, I’ll hold on to it. We still have to get out of here,” Lotho said.  
  
  
Aegon looked at him in suspicion and Lotho felt a burst of irritation and melancholy. Did he think Lotho would betray him now? After all that had happened? Then Aegon nodded and handed the green one over. Lotho led them through the doors from whence they came. Aegon followed after he had blown out the candles he lit earlier.  
  
  
Lotho led the way and turned into a passageway he knew his men used to get around the palace unseen. Aegon grabbed a torch off the walls and handed it to Lotho, who entered the passageway first. If he remembered right, this one would lead to just beyond the Palace, coming out near a secret pier where a few gondolas were kept.  
  
  
Sure enough, his memory proved right and the place was, thankfully, unguarded. They got onto the gondola and Lotho steered it all the way beyond the city deeper into the land, near to where Aegon’s men were camped, outside the city. The ride was in heavy silence. Aegon looked over the eggs, running his hands over them, a sense of marvel and accomplishment in his eyes. Lotho instead found his tongue tied, unable to decide what to say next.  
  
  
Soon, they reached past the city limits and stopped the gondola nearest to where Aegon’s camp lay. They got on land and Lotho left the egg with Aegon and bid him stay while he went to get horses. A stable lay not far from them and the owner was passed out, dead drunk. Lotho took two horses and rode one, leading the other to where Aegon was standing with the eggs. He handed over the horse to Aegon who put the eggs in a sack attached to the saddle.  
  
  
“I think it would be better if I go alone, Lotho. The presence of the First Sword in the camp would cause undue questions to be asked,” Aegon said. Lotho nodded unable to find anything to say yet again. Aegon reached forward and engulfed Lotho in a hug.  
  
  
“You are a true friend, Lotho. I shall never forget what you have done for me here today. When I get back to Westeros, ask any boon of me and I shall fulfil it. You have my word,” Aegon said, smiling.  
  
  
Lotho smiled back at Aegon and nodded. Aegon then climbed his horse and rode off towards his camp while Lotho wheeled his own horse back towards the city. As he rode away from Aegon, a heavy despair seemed to fill up Lotho’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very exciting to write and liked Braavos as a setting. Let me know if any errors crept in. As always, any feedback is appreciated. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know!


	12. Viserys II

158 AC, King’s Landing  
  
  
 ** _The Hand of the King_**  
  
  
Viserys sighed from his position on the Iron Throne as yet another petitioner came forth to present their case before the Crown. Viserys had excused himself from the judgements a few hours past, preferring to let the Justicar deal with the petitioners. The Master of Laws himself was also not present. Benjicot Blackwood had conferred his title of Justicar upon his man, Ser Olvyar Grey. It was a very curious decision, but one the King had no qualms about and Viserys let it be.  
  
  
The Master of Laws himself was spending most of his time with the Prince. Viserys would have liked to believe that they were discussing matters pertaining to the invasion of Dorne, but he knew better. The Lord of Raventree Hall had seen the change in the air. The King was dying and the Grandmaester could not even give him a few more years. The Grandmaester professed that the King had enough time to set right his affairs in this mortal plane, but it all too short for Viserys.  
  
  
Viserys was sure that Blackwood was spending all of that time trying to get in the good graces of Daeron. He had his young daughter brought to the capital, ostensibly to serve as a lady-in-waiting for Princess Daena. Viserys had seen through the ruse in an instant. He had lived through Titus Peake’s schemes to put a crown on his daughter’s head. He knew how to spot such men. Yet, Blackwood was the first of the Small Council, besides Alyn Velaryon who had gone over to the Prince and that carried a not insignificant weight to it.  
  
  
It had rankled Viserys that he was the last to be included in this scheme of theirs. But, Viserys was not blind to the problems that plagued their realm nor was he blind to the role his brother had played in the development of such matters. And, yet he did not believe that answering those problems with war was the correct route to take. But the realm clamoured for it, the lords ever hungry for glory on the field. The Marcher lords were already preparing for war and Viserys feared it would let the Dornish know of their intentions prematurely. Viserys shook his head in an effort to clear his head of these thoughts and turned his attention to the next petitioner.  
  
  
The next petitioner came forth, Lord Rennifer Byrch. He had been in the capital for at least a few weeks now and he brought his case against the Lord Boremund Bywater whom he accused of encroaching upon his lands and stealing his cattle. It was a tedious affair. Ser Olyvar looked to Viserys on what to do next. Viserys nodded, satisfied. It appeared as if the knight had not let his newfound position bring ideas of grandeur into his head.  
  
  
“My lord hand!” Byrch addressed Viserys, “A grave injustice had been done! And beneath the King’s own eyes, no less! Bywater has overstepped his bounds, my lord, and he now resorts to common thievery like brigands and bandits. The grasping fool that he is, he has also encroached upon my lands, passed to me by my father and to him by his own father for long even before the Conquest. I ask you to pass judgement and set this injustice to rights at once.”  
  
  
Bywater who was also in attendance drew himself up in indignation. He looked to Viserys who motioned for him to speak.  
  
  
“I see no fool but the one standing in front of you, my lord hand! The lands are mine by rights and his own father stole them from me, sensing opportunity during the Dance. Do not trust this snake, my lord. His own uncle abandoned your mother when he was to escort her to Duskendale,” Bywater said.  
  
  
Byrch looked truly angry now. “How dare you! My uncle died protecting the Queen. You were the first to go over to the Usurper when her Grace, the Queen had to flee from the capital,” he thundered. Spittle flew from his mouth and his movements were jerky, his face red. Viserys feared that if this were to go on, the Lord Byrch’s heart would give out and he held up a hand for peace. Byrch stopped his diatribe, trying to calm down. Viserys stood up and addressed the Hall.  
  
  
“This is a very sensitive matter and as such a decision cannot be taken lightly. If either of you has any proofs to present before the Crown, bring them tomorrow and we shall give your concerns due consideration. That will be all,” Viserys said and walked down the Throne and out of the Hall, a knight of the Kingsguard following him.  
  
  
Viserys walked to where he knew the Prince would be at this time of the day. The godswood was a secretive part of the Red Keep, with very few visitors. So, Daeron had taken it over and held his own court there. Daeron did not dictate the realm’s policy yet, but in all other matters, he was already the King, at least to the members of the Small Council. Viserys’s brother was now confined to his rooms and rarely attended the meetings to discuss matters of the state, health permitting and Daeron had taken the opportunity to shore up his influence in the Court, with Viserys’s help.  
  
  
Viserys reached the godswood, which had another knight of the Kingsguard keeping guard. He bowed and moved aside as Viserys approached. Viserys heard snippets of conversation as he made his way deeper inside.  
  
  
“... the Bank of Oldtown would be a far better choice than the Iron Bank, my prince. It will show them that their crimes in bringing about the Dance have been forgiven and we will not be indebting ourselves to a foreign power,” Viserys heard Blackwood say.  
  
  
“But surely we are not an enemy of Braavos? They have no cause to turn against us and have given no such sign of their inclination,” Velaryon said. Viserys did not know if he was being contrary to Blackwood on purpose or if he still held something against The Hightowers after so long. Then, Ser Robert Darklyn spoke.  
  
  
“I have reliable sources claim that an envoy of Dorne has been a regular guest of the Sealord for the past year. And our own envoy has been turned out of his quarters in Braavos, sometime around last year. Ostensibly, it was due to him being implicated in some Braavosi crime and they sent him back home, but I know Ser Daryl Waynwood personally. He is a most loyal and honourable man. He would not do anything to besmirch the name of the King whom he had been sent to represent. This reeks of a plot, my prince.”  
  
  
Viserys finally reached them. The lords of the Small Council rose for Viserys and he joined them, sitting on a fallen trunk just the others. Daeron sat on a stump, while they arranged themselves in a semicircle around him. It was a crude gathering, but one indicative of Daeron’s growing influence, if the lords were willing to sit around like children playing some game for Daeron’s sake.  
  
  
“What of the First Sword? Does my son not maintain a close friendship with him? If anything significant has happened to sour our relationship with Braavos, we would be able to find out,” Viserys said.  
  
  
“Well, what I know beyond any doubt is that something significant happened in Braavos, personally pertaining to the Sealord. And it appears that he has taken it as something done by us. I also know he has no way of directly blaming us for this and so he seeks other venues for recompense. If he was able to deal with the problem in the manner he saw fit, he would have done so already,” Darklyn said.  
  
  
“So, he suspects our hand in some plot but he is unable to prove it, then? And he has a culprit in mind? It could either be Ser Waynwood, who the Sealord believes to have acted in our stead or it could be our cousin, Aegon. Was he in Braavos at that time?” Daeron asked. Viserys felt a sort of resignation fill him. Even in exile, Aegon found some way to muddle affairs of the realm.  
  
  
“Yes, my prince. Prince Aegon and the Stormbreakers had completed a contract for the Braavosi and the Sealord even threw a banquet in honour of their victory. The Stormbreakers did not stay for long after that either, they left quickly in search of other battlefields,” Darklyn said.  
  
  
“So, it cannot have been something of their doing. If what you say is true, they would barely have been in the city for enough time to hatch any plots,” the Master of Coin, Lord Bryndemere Tarth said, addressing Darklyn.  
  
  
The Evenstar was a recent addition to the Small Council and his position had lain vacant for quite a while. The King had not appointed a Master of Coin for a long time and Viserys looked after the responsibilities of that office. He had then appointed Lord Clement Celtigar to the position who had died a few moons back from the flux, of all things. The Evenstar was appointed to the position on Daeron’s recommendation. Daeron had wanted the realm to know that the Crown’s isolation was at an end and Viserys approved of that. The King himself approved too, if only because he believed that Daeron exerting influence on the court was a good thing.  
  
  
“And the First Sword of Braavos? Will he provide information if we were to approach him?” Velaryon asked.  
  
  
“Hmmm. It is difficult to say. There is one main problem with him right now. He’s dead. I was told that he was found drowned in a canal and that it was apparently a suicide, but foul play can’t be ruled out,” Darklyn said. Viserys sighed and rubbed his forehead. The man had a flair for the dramatic and he liked to draw out his news to give it a punch. Viserys spoke.  
  
  
“Does this mean he knew something? Perhaps something that implicated my son in any plot, false or otherwise? You believe he was silenced?” Viserys asked Darklyn.  
  
  
“I believe nothing. We don’t know much about the situation except for Braavos’s hostility. I do think it would be prudent to enter into a formal alliance with the Lysene. They have their own designs on the Stepstones, which Dorne annexed after the Daughter’s war. They clamour for vengeance against the Tyroshi. They have tasted victory against the Tyroshi once, thanks to your son and now they hunger for more,” Darklyn said.  
  
  
“Why hasn’t war broken out between Tyrosh and Lys yet, then?” Blackwood asked. “Do they fear the interference of the other Free Cities so much. I heard tell of their initial victory on Tryosh, but they seem to have dawdled for years now. Do we want someone like that as allies?”  
  
  
“Whatever might be the reason for their lack of advances, the fact still remains that Braavos would not allow any of the Daughters to gain further power. Correct me if I am wrong but Tyrosh remains one of Dorne’s principal allies. If we were to attack Dorne, they would harass us and would be a thorn in our side which would distract us from fully subjugating the Dornish. So, we let the Lysene eat from the Tyroshi cake. Braavos would not interfere in the Daughter’s were to fight each other. And if we promise Myr some of the Disputed Lands, we would get them on board too,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“Well put, my prince. But we still need to put our alliance with Lys to paper. Marrying the daughter of their First Magister to our Prince Aegon would go a long way in showing our commitment to the alliance,” Blackwood said.  
  
  
“I mean no offence to the Lord Hand when I speak of this but I feel that this must be said.” The Evenstar said and looked carefully at Viserys before continuing, “When Prince Viserys married Larra Rogare, there were many in the realm who objected to such a match. They wished for their own daughter to wed the Prince then and being Lyseni and thus a foreigner had soured their view of the bride. I fear that the same would happen to Prince Aegon and his Lysene bride,” the Evenstar said. Everyone around the clearing looked at Viserys in caution as if he would explode in anger at a perceived slight. Viserys was silent for a while and thought of what to say.  
  
  
“The problems which my lady wife faced here in King’s Landing were in part due to the obscene wealth of her family. Her brothers simply threw their money around to fix their problems and many of the lords who had come to the capital after the war felt as if they were exerting too much influence on my brother and me. And she was too foreign, I have to admit. She did not keep to the Seven and she did not know how to interact with the ladies at court. She did not have any ladies-in-waiting and it isolated her from the rest of the court. But of all these reasons, the worst was that she did not speak the Common Tongue and made no attempts to learn it. In my love for her, I let her do as she pleased and my youth blinded me to the effects of these actions. These mistakes won’t be repeated with Aegon and his bride,” Viserys said. The memory of Larra was still fresh in his mind even if it had been almost two decades since she left for Lys.  
  
  
“Does this mean you approve of Aegon’s match then, uncle?” Daeron asked.  
  
  
“You have convinced me of the necessity of such a thing, my prince. Perhaps we may find other allies. Something other than Lys. But if that is what you wish for, I will not stand in your way. Let Aegon have his Lyseni bride,” Viserys said.  
  
  
“Well. That’s settled then. Lord Alyn, I want you to go to Lys and oversee the marriage. You will represent the Crown this alliance and show the Lyseni that we have a vested interest in this union,” Daeron said. Velaryon stood up and bowed. Viserys suddenly felt pride well up through him. His nephew was barely of age but he had a kingly disposition already.  
  
  
“As you say, my prince. If you would excuse me now, I shall make my preparations immediately,” Velaryon said. Daeron waved his assent and Velaryon gathered his cloak about him, prepared to leave.  
  
  
“Take care to be discreet, Lord Alyn,” Viserys said. “The bride’s father may be the First Magister, but it would not do for us to overplay our hand and reveal our cards before we are ready. Let those at the marriage think that Aegon is being married to the First Magister’s daughter on the basis of his exploits in Essos. I understand that he’s made a name for himself, the Sellsword Prince or some such. As long as no word of this alliance goes out to Dorne, we will have the element of surprise.”  
  
  
Velaryon nodded and made his way out from the godswood. Viserys saw that Daeron had turned to Tarth to give him instructions on what to do.  
  
  
“My Lord of Tarth, I need you to go to Oldtown. Speak with Lord Hightower and get the Bank of Oldtown to finance our war in Dorne at as low interest as they can give. Tell him about the riches of Sunspear. Convince him of this war’s necessity and of his own profit, should he lend us the money. I wish to obligate him only if convincing them fails,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“Yes, my prince,” Tarth said and stood up, bowing. He too left after making his excuses and Blackwood and Darklyn too stood up, perhaps sensing that the session was at an end. They made their own bows to Daeron and made their way out of the clearing. Once they were alone, Daeron turned to Viserys to speak.  
  
  
“Uncle, I am going to see Aemon and Naerys. Will you accompany me? The Grandmaester said that her fever had broken yesterday. Perhaps she would be awake now,” Daeron asked.  
  
  
“Yes. Yes. Let us go. It has been some days since I saw her. Perhaps the day of the birth was when I saw her last. The Grandmaester deemed her condition too fragile and so I did not dare disturb her rest,” Viserys said and they too left the godswood. The walk to Naerys’s chambers was in heavy silence, her condition weighing on both of their minds.  
  
  
“Aemon seemed very devastated when I saw him last. And Naerys was very ill and had a high fever. The Grandmaester said she had an infection then and that the birth had taken a huge toll on her,” Daeron ventured, hoping to say something to break the sombre mood.  
  
  
“He has lost his child and that is always tragic. Doubly so for the child was stillborn. I expected him to mourn for quite a while, but it has been near to three weeks and he shows no signs of getting better,” Viserys said. It had also been a few weeks since he had seen Aemon. Aemon had sequestered himself within Naerys’s chambers and refused come out, always staying by her side, holding her hand through her fever and praying at the shrine she had gotten constructed in her rooms.  
  
  
“Even little Jaehaerys and Rhaenys were inconsolable. I visited the nursery a few times when Aemon was with Naerys. My little brother tries to cheer them up and Jaehaerys is receptive to him, but Rhaenys is just a baby and she does not understand. There is only so much the maids can do to cheer her up too, “ Daeron said, speaking about his cousins.  
  
  
“It is good that you take some time to visit your brother and cousins. These children, you, Aemon and Aegon, all of you are the future of our house. We must educate them in the right way, to ensure that the mistakes of the Dance are never repeated. Family comes first, Daeron. Remember that. There may come a day when I am no longer here and when you would have to take up the Throne and then it would fall upon you to take care of the family,” Viserys said and smiled when he saw Daeron nod seriously.  
  
  
The pair reached Naerys’s chambers and a knight of the Kingsguard stood outside. He bowed as they passed through the doors. Deeper into the rooms they went until they were inside her bedchamber. A pair of maids were waiting should Naerys need anything but Viserys dismissed them, seeing as Naerys was still asleep. Aemon himself was slumped over in a chair and he too was fast asleep. Daeron went over to Aemon to wake him up while Viserys walked over to Naerys.  
  
  
Naerys had always been slight and pale, but now she looked somehow paler if it was possible. Her skin was waxy and had an unhealthy pallor. She twitched in her sleep as if in a nightmare and Viserys’s heart ached to see his daughter in this way. He put his hand to her forehead and, to his relief, she had no fever. The Grandmaester was right. It seemed that the worst had passed.  
  
  
By then, Aemon had woken up and made his way over to where Viserys stood by Naerys’s bed, Daeron at his side. Viserys then got a good look at Aemon for the first time in weeks. Aemon’s clothes were soiled and dirty and he himself was unshaven and looked ridiculous with his patchy silvery beard.  
  
  
“Aemon, come with me out of here, we need to speak. I do not wish to disturb Naerys,” Viserys said and led him to the outer chamber. Aemon followed mutely, but even as he walked he lingered behind, his eyes going back towards Naerys.  
  
  
“How do you feel?” Daeron asked once they were out of Naerys’s earshot.  
  
  
“Miserable. All of this is my fault. I should have known better. The last two births were very difficult for her. I wanted another child. I did not stop to think of what it would mean for her. It was foolish and I don’t know what I would have done if she had...,” Aemon said, trailing off, unable to think of the extreme. His voice was scratchy and Viserys sensed that he had been crying recently.  
  
  
“Snap out of it, Aemon. All you are doing is letting your grief cloud your actions. You haven’t come to our meetings in weeks and we needed you there. And even if we could have excused you from that, you’ve neglected your children. Did you even think of Jaehaerys and Rhaenys or did you just wallow around content to celebrate your grief?” Viserys asked. Seeing Aemon in this state, Viserys realized the problem was more serious than he had imagined.  
  
  
“How dare you!? My wife lay dying and you speak to me of duty? What is this duty worth if Naerys is dead? What reward does it bring, if Naerys would not be by my side to taste the fruits of my labour? And you bring my children into it? You who have failed Aegon and turned him away from us?” Aemon exploded, his frustrations over the course of the past few weeks boiling over.  
  
  
“Silence! Do not speak of what you do not know. Do you think I do not love my children? Did you think I was happy when Aegon had to leave? What is done is done. It does you no favours to shout at me. I had in mind a special task for you, which we had to entrust to less competent hands now,” Viserys said, his own anger barely in check.  
  
  
“And what is this special task which I am uniquely suited for? Impress some more Marcher lords with my martial prowess? Convince the Vale lords of the necessity of our war? I have done all that and more,” Aemon said, his anger ebbing away, but the sparks of it still lit.  
  
  
“No. We needed you to go to Oldtown and speak with Hightower. The bank is led by Hightower in name but in truth, your Lyseni uncle is in charge of the operation. Financing a war is a sensitive matter and your presence would have smooth things out with both Hightower and your uncle,” Viserys explained.  
  
  
“Don’t worry about it Aemon. I have entrusted the Master of Coin with that task. But Naerys is better now. And we have agreed on Aegon’s marriage with the Lyseni princess. You could accompany Lord Alyn on his visit there to oversee the wedding. Take some time away from here and when you get back, Naerys should be as healthy as she was before,” Daeron said, playing the peacemaker.  
  
  
Aemon looked doubtful at the thought of leaving Naerys when she had only just recovered and Viserys jumped in, trying to take advantage of Aemon’s doubt.  
  
  
“Your brother is getting married in Lys and none of us will be there to represent the groom. That is not something I wish to show to the Lyseni. The same thing happened with my marriage and they took it to mean that they could do as they pleased once we came back to Westeros, thinking they had me in their grasp. I don’t want the Lyseni to make that sort of assumptions again. If they want another Lyseni Spring, it has to happen outside of Westeros. I will not tolerate the Lyseni accumulating power here once more. You will go to Essos with Lord Velaryon and see that they understand this,” Viserys said.  
  
  
Aemon nodded. “Very well, father. I shall represent our house at Aegon’s marriage to their princess. I only ask for one thing - give me your word that Naerys will be taken care of,” Aemon asked earnestly.  
  
  
“You are not going away to die in a war, Aemon. Nothing will happen to Naerys while you’re gone. She was my daughter for long before she became your wife. I know how to look after her. It is you who has to ensure that you don’t lose sight of your own responsibilities. When was the last time you visited your children? You have neglected them in favour of your wife,” he said and Aemon grimaced before nodding in agreement.  
  
  
Viserys cast one last look at Naerys before he left going back to his solar in the Tower of the Hand. Daeron and Aemon were talking about something in hushed tones and Aemon was smiling. Viserys wanted to stay with his son for a little more time, but he had work to do and the Realm would not wait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any feedback is appreciated. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Want to complain? I thrive off of feedback, so do let me know!


	13. Aegon III

Late 158 AC, Lys  
  
  
 ** _Aegon_**  
  
  
Aegon stood in Lys’s harbour, looking upon Alyn Velaryon’s ship as it docked in. He spied Aemon on the deck and waved, glad to see his brother after so many years. Aemon recognized him and waved back. Aegon got a good look at Aemon’s face after so many years. By the gods! Was that a beard on Aemon’s face? Was he trying to look older because he was a father now? Aegon wanted to tease Aemon so badly, he could not even wait for them to disembark.  
  
  
“Lord Alyn,” Aegon called out to Alyn Velaryon who was standing beside Aemon on the deck, “who is this old man upon the deck with you? Why it seems as if he could be mine own grandsire! Old man! What are you doing on the ship? Are you a stowaway?” Aegon burst into laughter, unable to control himself anymore.   
  
  
By now, the gangplank had been lowered Aemon stomped his way down, irritation clear in his eyes. He walked over to Aegon and was about to punch him but suddenly stopped. He turned to Velaryon and spoke.  
  
  
“Lord Alyn, look at this hideous monstrosity upon the harbour. I had heard that Lys was called Lys the Lovely but this man seems to be the ugliest I’ve ever seen, scarred and swarthy that he is. Perhaps he is a beggar, my lord. Let us throw a few coppers at him and he might let us be,” Aemon said and he too laughed, though Aegon realized that it was forced.  
  
  
“Ah, no need to fake your laugh, old man. It is clear that you are lacking in wit and intelligence. You are gazing upon the most handsome and desired man in the world. Your jealousy blinds you. Or perhaps it is your old age?” Aegon countered and chuckled once more.  
  
  
By then, Velaryon had descended from the ship and walked over to the brothers a smile on his face. He drew his cloak closer around himself to ward off the spray and spoke.  
  
  
"Well met, Aegon. Though it seems as if you and Aemon did not even have a reunion. In fact, it seems as if both of you haven't parted ways at all, the way you bicker," Velaryon said. Then, he frowned.  
  
  
"I see you have been injured, and rather grievously at that, judging by your scar," Velaryon said.  
  
  
"It must have been some maiden caressing you face, brother. Perhaps it is my goodsister?" Aemon asked. Aegon laughed and clapped Aemon on the shoulder.  
  
  
"Nothing so serious. Simply an accident when I was practising at jousting. And the maidens do love to caress it so," Aegon said smiling and steered them to where a huge bull of a man was waiting for them a few yards back, holding a few horses by their reins. Aegon led them there even as the ship's crew started to bring down chests and other provisions. Aegon spoke once they reached the man with the horses.  
  
  
"Brother, Lord Alyn, this is Ser Jon Harte. He is, for lack of a better word, my man here in the Company," Aegon said then turned to address Harte, " Ser Harte, this is my brother Aemon and you know Lord Alyn, of course."  
  
  
"Greetings, my prince. And to you as well, my Lord. I trust the crossing was pleasant," Harte said. He had a deep voice which had a tendency to calm down whomever he was speaking to, but Aegon had found himself dozing off sometimes when the man spoke.  
  
  
Aemon nodded his own greeting and the party took the horses from Harte's hand and mounted up. As they started to make their way to the First Magister's manse, several other men armed with spears fell in line with them, walking as they rode. They had no distinguishing marks not did they wear any uniform, but it was clear to a discerning eye that these were soldiers from the Free Companies. While the party made their way out of the harbour, Velaryon and Harte took the lead with Aemon and Aegon lagging behind. Velaryon turned to Harte and spoke.  
  
  
"Has the Company had a profitable few years Jon? It has been quite a few years since I saw you lot last. News of Essos and its wars reaches the realm very slowly," Velaryon said.  
  
  
"It was hugely successful, my lord. We had successive campaigns in Slaver's Bay, near the Dothraki Sea, with Braavos and others to name a few. The Company is richer than ever before and now the news that we'll be able to fight back home in Westeros has raised the spirits of many of the soldiers," Harte said. Velaryon frowned and addressed Harte.  
  
  
"Has news of the Conquest reached Dorne then? If the soldiers know of this, it is only a matter of time before some sponge blabs it in a tavern for everyone to hear. This was meant to be discrete," Velaryon said, accusation dripping from his tone. Aegon answered him rising to the challenge of defending the Company.  
  
  
"The men-at-arms know nothing. Only trusted knights of the Company have been told of this plan, beyond myself and Ser Oscar. I trust these men to keep my secrets, else I would not have told them of this at all. You underestimate my power over the Company, Lord Alyn. I am the Company. It answers to me. If you doubt it, you doubt me," Aegon said hotly, taking the accusation against the Company upon himself.  
  
  
"Peace, Aegon. I was merely worried is all. It would not do for our plans to be revealed to the Dornish prematurely. Not with the King so ill and bedridden," Velaryon said calmly. Aegon's anger died down at this and he nodded and turned to Aemon, putting the issue out of his mind.  
  
  
"Tell me Aemon, why the beard? And what of my nephew, Jaehaerys was his name, I believe?" Aegon asked.  
  
  
"Yes, Jaehaerys. He will be five namedays old in a few moons. And he has a sister too. Rhaenys, we named her. She is two namedays old now," Aemon said, pride evident in his voice. Aegon was glad his brother had found happiness with Naerys though he noticed that Aemon had neglected to speak of his beard. Aegon wondered if that was on purpose. He clapped Aemon on the shoulder and spoke.  
  
  
"I should like to meet my niece and nephew soon, brother. They must be fair to look upon. If they take after Naerys, that is. I pity whomever they marry should they have the misfortune to take after you in looks," Aegon said and grinned.  
  
  
"Says the scarred monstrosity," Aemon countered.  
  
  
"I am hurt, brother. Your words wound me deeply. I hope I am right in assuming Daeron is well, too," Aegon asked.  
  
  
"Yes, he is well. He exerts more influence upon the court as the days pass with uncle now confined to his bed. It is good. With the state of uncle's health declining by the day, father too approves of him taking on the responsibilities of the realm. And he is also in good health, thank you for the concern," Aemon said. Aegon rolled his eyes. It was really characteristic of Aemon to construe statements that Aegon had not said at all.  
  
  
"I trust that Naerys is of sound health too? She was always of a sickly disposition when we were younger. I hope she is happier with you as her husband rather than me," Aegon said, a wry smile on his lips.  
  
  
Aemon was silent for a while and Aegon looked over to see what the matter was with his brother. Aemon seemed to wilt before Aegon’s eyes losing his good cheer in an instant. Aegon grew concerned.  
  
  
“Is Naerys not well? Did father force you to leave her while she was suffering from some ailment? Is she … ?” Aegon asked, afraid to even voice his deepest fear.  
  
  
“No. No. She is well enough. When I had left King’s Landing, she was recovering. She had a difficult birth a few moons back and the child was stillborn. It took a toll on her it was a few weeks before the Grandmaester pronounced her as being out of any danger. It was then that Daeron sent me here to take my mind off matter,” Aemon replied.  
  
  
Aegon took one hand off the reins of his horse and wrapped it around Aemon’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. They rode for a while in silence, each one’s thoughts running wild. An awkward silence descended over them, each finding the other changed, different from the brother they knew and found themselves unable to bridge the gap that time and distance had wrought between the brothers. After a while, when the silence grew heavy, Aemon spoke in an attempt to dispel it.  
  
  
“Tell me, brother, of your wife. She is the daughter of the First Magister, this I know. She is also of a family from Old Valyria and that carries a not-insignificant amount of prestige with it. But these people, this family, were they ever Dragonlords? I should think not, else we’d have heard of them,” Aemon said.  
  
  
“Oh no, these people were never Dragonlords. They are not even a family from Valyria unlike us and the other Forty. They from deeper into the Valyrian peninsula and closer to Essos. When Lys was first founded, they were sent as castellans and administrators,” Aegon replied. Then, he asked something which had been on his mind even before Aemon had arrived at Lys.  
  
  
"Aemon? Why has it taken you such a long time to arrive from King's Landing? From what I understand, you left a few weeks after Naerys gave birth, but it took you near enough to five moons to reach Lys?" Aegon asked.  
  
  
"Ah. Well, we were waylaid by a storm near Pentos and had to stop for repairs. It delayed our journey by quite a while. Why do you ask? Have we missed anything by arriving so late?" Aemon replied.  
  
  
"If you were to arrive a day later, you would have missed my marriage. I thought you would not make it at all. In fact, I didn't even know of your coming. Lord Alyn's ship was recognized and I hastened to the harbour," Aegon said.  
  
  
“Missed your marriage! What are you talking about? Why would we have missed your marriage?” Aemon asked. Aegon looked to Aemon and saw him shocked and outraged.  
  
  
“Well, the Lyseni have their marriages on special days that are blessed by their gods. Or something like that. So, Caegal has been consulting with his astrologers to set a date for the marriage. And that date was set to be tomorrow. Besides, I did not even know that you lot were coming here,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Why should we be following the Lyseni customs for the marriage? Your bride will come back to King’s Landing with you. If she keeps her own gods, it would be very difficult for her,” Aemon said. Aegon frowned at these words. He had never thought of this issue before.  
  
  
“The wedding is being done in the Lyseni style to avoid any rumours of an alliance forming. It is so that people who know of this wedding will only think that I am being married to her because of my position within the Company. Serenei shall keep to the Seven once we go back to Westeros. I shall instruct her to learn the Common Tongue, though she does speak it well enough already. I will not have my wife be shunned for being a foreigner, though she might be one in truth,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Aemon nodded and they rode in silence. Aegon wanted to say something, anything at all to dispel this silence hanging over them. For all that Velaryon had said of them not having parted ways at all, Aegon felt acutely aware of the way his brother's had changed.   
  
  
Aemon held himself differently. He walked differently and spoke differently. He hugged differently. Aemon's hands were as calloused as Aegon's were and then, for the first time since they met, Aegon got a good look at the sword hanging from Aemon's hip. Recognition and jealousy flashed through Aegon at the same time.  
  
  
"Is that Dark Sister I spy at your hip, brother? I was unaware that you had been knighted. And to be given Dark Sister too. A most impressive achievement," Aegon said. His tone must have betrayed his feelings on the matter. Aemon grew guarded. He still remembered Aegon's torments from when they were younger, it seemed.  
  
  
Yes. I was knighted only a year after you had left." Aemon said, then paused and continued, "Our royal uncle bestowed it upon me then."  
  
  
Aegon hummed in acceptance. His own jealousy had bled away by now. Instead, he was filled with a thrum of excitement as he remembered his own accomplishments. And his greatest one waited for them back at the First Magister's manse, unknown to everyone.  
  
  
After a few more minutes of riding in silence, the group reached the Manse. The guards bowed as they entered the courtyard in front of the manse but Aegon paid them no heed. His excitement was mounting. He had hidden his secret treasure from everyone in the Company for the past year. Not even Ser Oscar knew of this. And now, finally, he would reveal it to Lord Alyn and Aemon. He would watch their astonishment and awe as they realized that he had achieved what even Jaehaerys the Conciliator had failed to do.  
  
  
The group had reached the doors of manse and dismounted. Caegal Nograthien stood there, with his wife and his household retinue. Aegon looked at his bride. She was clad in the finest of shimmering samite, but that was obvious. It would not do for the daughter of the First Magister to have any less. But it was her face that drew his attention.   
  
  
She was veiled. Her face was covered with a veil of thin Myrish gauze and yet Aegon could make out some of her features from within. The partial view he got was tantalizing and Aegon tried to catch her eye. She looked down, playing the part of the shy bride, but Aegon knew how she could be when they were alone together. And now, seeing her, with her head bowed down, and face veiled, as with the Lysene customs, something within Aegon stirred, some feeling he had not felt for a long while.  
  
  
Aegon was lost in her beauty and grace and missed Caegal stepping forward to offer his guests bread and salt. Velaryon nodded in approval at the Westerosi custom. It meant that this marriage might not be how Viserys and Larra's had been. Aemon and Velaryon took some of the bread and salt and thus availed themselves of their guest rights. Aemon nudged Aegon, breaking out of his stupor. Aegon reddened, embarrassed at being caught and cleared his throat.  
  
  
“Aemon! Lord Alyn! Before you retire to the rooms prepared for you, I would ask for you to come with me. There is a matter of serious import that I need to speak with you about. That is, providing that the Lord Nograthien allows for me to take his guests away from him,” Aegon said. He sent a smile towards Caegal.  
  
  
“Of course. Of course. You are family too now, young prince. These guests are yours just as much as they are mine. You can show them what you wish. And your brother, of course. He is to be family too. I shall want to meet him once. After your work is done,” Caegal said.  
  
  
Aemon nodded his assent and Aegon led them to his chambers while the servants put his brother’s and Lord Alyn’s baggage in their chambers. As Aegon was walking, he flagged an idle servant and ordered him to get some wine to his chambers. The trio then made their way to Aegon’s chambers. Aegon led them over to where his chest was and opened. They peered inside.  
  
  
The chest held a lot of things. It held Aegon’s armour and the harness he used to put his mace on his horse’s saddle. It also held some of Aegon’s gold, though Ser Oscar also held a significant amount. Aegon’s chest also held the ledgers containing the payments for the men in the Company as well as lists of members who had joined on a temporary basis. And at the very bottom of his chest, beneath sheaves of papers was a sack. A sack of Aegon’s most precious treasures.  
  
  
Aegon pushed the papers aside and took out the bag. He placed it on a table in his chambers and Aemon and Lord Alyn looked at it curiously. Aegon opened the bag and pulled down it’s sided to expose the treasures within. Aemon and Lord Alyn gasped. Just then, the servant entered with the wine and Aegon quickly waved him away, before walking over and closing the door and then barring it shut.  
  
  
“Aegon, where did you get those from?” Lord Alyn asked. His words were carefully chosen but Aegon sensed some urgency in the tone.  
  
  
“These were stolen, Lord Alyn. Stolen from us, many years ago. Do you recall Elyssa Farman?” Aegon asked. The pride he held for his act was evident in his voice.  
  
  
“You fool! You stole these from Braavos, didn’t you?” Lord Alyn thundered.  
  
  
“Stole? These our property. It is the Braavosi who are the thieves. Upjumped slaves is all they are and they sought to control the blood of the dragon with these. Well, no more,” Aegon said. He could not understand why Lord Alyn was angry at him. He had done this for the sake of his family. To regain their honour. To right a wrong. And this was what he got?  
  
  
“Don’t be stupid on purpose Aegon. I know you are cleverer than this. What possessed you to do such a thing?” Lord Alyn asked.  
  
  
“Stupid! How am I stupid for rescuing Targaryen treasures, stolen from us? And when the Old King asked for them to be handed over, the filthy Braavosi lied to us and hid our treasures,” Aegon spat out.  
  
  
“The Braavosi already suspect something Aegon. They have expelled our ambassador nearly a year ago and they are also hosting the Dornish ambassador quite frequently. Do any of the members of the Company know of this?,” Aemon asked.  
  
  
“If anyone of the Company knows, then it’s as good as the Braavosi knowing it. All it would take is one sponge blabbing in a drunken haze at some winesink,” Lord Alyn said.  
  
  
“You think very less of me, my lord. No one knows. Not even Ser Oscar,” Aegon said coldly.  
  
  
Lord Alyn sighed and rubbed at his forehead, thinking of what to do. “When Aemon and I go back to Westeros, we will be taking them with us. We cannot truly say how long your exile will least, yet. The King is sick and bedridden but shows no signs of giving up the ghost. Seven years haven’t passed either. I believe that it would be safer for all involved to have the eggs taken out of Essos. And you won’t be lugging them around wherever you go,” Lord Alyn said, addressing.  
  
  
“Very well then. You can take the eggs with you when you go back to Westeros after the marriage. These eggs, Aemon, you can give to your children, for their cradles,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Father has already gotten eggs from Dragonstone for my children. Both Jaehaerys and Rhaenys have their own eggs and neither of them hatched. I fear that we may have lost our dragons permanently. I had hoped that my children would be able to hatch the eggs they had and lift this curse we have,” Aemon said, despondently.  
  
  
“Perhaps, the eggs from Dragonstone have died. It is why we seem unable to hatch any of the eggs. Our own eggs didn’t hatch in our cradles and neither did the eggs of our cousins. Take these with you, when you go back. Give one to your next child. Give another to Daeron’s children. Keep one for my own children. Perhaps we can have three more Dragonriders by the time we are old,” Aegon said. He smiled at Aemon who smiled back at him.   
  
  
Aegon gathered the eggs back into the bag and handed them over to Aemon who took them. Then, Aemon and Lord Alyn left the room, intent on securing their newfound treasure.  
  
  
Just as they had left Ser Oscar entered Aegon’s chambers.  
  
  
“Well lad, you are to be married tomorrow. Why, it is almost as if you came to join the Company just yesterday and now we are nearing the end of your exile,” he said, smiling slightly.   
  
  
“Not only me, Ser, but even you should be glad to be going back to Westeros after so long,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Yes, yes. It has been a while. I wonder if my brother would want for me to get married or something mundane like that,” Ser Oscar said, sighing dramatically.  
  
  
“Nothing so serious, I should think,” Aegon replied and continued. “Even if the Lord Tully were to order you to get married, I could ask Daeron to grant you a keep in Dorne once we win. The rewards would be great and I’d ensure you’d get your share.”  
  
  
Ser Oscar laughed. “I am glad to hear that. I might take you up on it too after we go back to Westeros. But that is a discussion for another day. I came here with a purpose in mind and I’d have it done quick,” he said.   
  
  
“What is it then, Ser? Have you any need of me right now?” Aegon asked.  
  
  
“Yes. Now, kneel,” Ser OScar said, his voice losing the humour it had earlier and taking on a more authoritative tone.   
  
  
Aegon was confused for a moment before he grasped Ser Oscar’s meaning and got a giddy smile on his face. Prince Aegon Targaryen knelt before Ser Oscar Tully and when he rose a few minutes later he was Ser Aegon Targaryen.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The wedding feast was loud, noisy and rowdy and that was how Aegon liked it best. In the ballroom in the First Magister’s manse, all of the guests had gathered just after the marriage ceremony to partake in the celebrations of the union of Aegon Targaryen and Serenei of Lys. Caegal had long tables set up across the breadth of the hall, allowing for a large number of guests to feast even as many others danced in the hall to music by many musicians that Caegal had brought from as far North as Braavos and as far East as Qarth. The Volantene musicians set the tune for the couples dancing on the floor even as the minstrels from Pentos and Braavos sang their praises of the newly married couple.  
  
  
Some Pentoshi had just finished showing off his verses flattering Serenei when Aemon, who had been sitting to Aegon’s side, spoke up.  
  
  
“Your bride looks like how I remember mother looked like,” Aemon said.  
  
  
“How you remember mother looks like?” Aegon asked, incredulously. “You were barely three namedays old when she left us. How could you even remember?”  
  
  
“Don’t be so dismissive. I remember how mother looked like. And I’m sure even you do. Speak truthfully. Because from where I’m sitting, the resemblance is uncanny,” Aemon replied.  
  
  
“Even if I did remember what mother looked like, and I don’t, I would not tell you if my wife looked like our her. Which she doesn’t. So keep your half-witted opinions to yourself or I’ll gut you here and make sure you keep them to yourself,” Aegon said, irritated. Aemon chuckled.  
  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word,” Aemon said while patting Aegon on the back as if in sympathy. Aegon shrugged off Aemon’s hand in irritation and flagged a slave to refill his cup with some strong ale. From his other side, Serenei laid a hand on his arm.  
  
  
“Aegon. Perhaps, not drink so much. We have tonight to do, no,” she said in a broken Common Tongue, smirking. Unwittingly, Aegon lowered the cup. Over the years that he had spent in Essos, quite a few were spent in Lys. Ser Oscar had wanted him to spend time with his betrothed. He told how very few would get the opportunity to know who they were marrying and that Aegon should not squander such a chance.   
  
  
Whenever Aegon spoke with Serenei, especially over the past few years, after she had flowered, it seemed as if she wove a sort of magic with her words. At first, Aegon attributed this to her native tongue. The Lyseni language was a very beautiful one and Aegon felt that their words just slid off the speaker’s tongues. But now, even after she spoke to him in the Common Tongue, there seemed to be some magic in her words. Something that drew him in. And Aegon liked that.  
  
  
He turned to Serenei and smiled. “Why don’t we retire to our chambers right now, my lady? It seems very tedious to sit through all of this. We can leave and let my brother take care of the mess,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Serenei laughed. It was pleasant, musical laugh and it sent an image of the tinkling of the little bells that smallfolk girls used to weave into their hair back in Westeros into Aegon’s mind. Aegon’s smile fell as he was suddenly gripped with an immediate desire to go back to Westeros. He found himself seized by emotion as his heart ached for home. At that moment, all Aegon wanted was to be back in the Red Keep’s yard and play at swords with Aemon and Daeron. All of this fighting and travelling and everything seemed very tedious now. He could not bear to wait until his uncle died or until the seven years were up and all of that nonsense. Just then, Caegal, who had been sitting to Serenei’s side leaned forward to speak with Lord Alyn who was sitting beside Aemon.  
  
  
“You are sure of it, my lord? Braavos will turn hostile to our interests, then?” Caegal asked.  
  
  
“Yes. Perhaps Myr can be induced to support us against Tyrosh. They are not particularly strong, navally or otherwise, but they hold deep resentment against Tyrosh and Dorne since the Daughter’s War. We could promise them some of the Disputed Lands, if it should come to that,” Lord Alyn replied.  
  
  
“Myr will be useless in any war,” Caegal replied, “ They were gutted last time and still haven’t recovered. It feels like they’re sitting on their asses and doing nothing. The Conclave even stopped trying to defend against the Dothraki. All they do is pay them with gold and slaves when they come around, like some tribute to an overlord and think they’ve done something grand. No, Lord Velaryon, Myr is not an ally Lys would like, nor is it one we would prefer.”  
  
  
Aegon jumped into the conversation just then. “Pentos!” he declared and continued before anyone could question him. “We ought to induce Pentos to move against Braavos. They have grown overconfident after their recent victories. If we are able to tie up all the bigger Free Companies near the Disputed Lands, Bravos would be easy pickings. They’ve come so far down south and even claimed the Andal coastlands as the ‘Braavosi Coastline’.” Aegon felt triumphant at having provided such an elegant solution. Lord Alyn frowned, wondering whether such a thing would work. Caegal seemed to consider Aegon’s words and then spoke.  
  
  
“It could work,” Caegal said. He paused, stroking his chin, thinking on possible outcomes. “Braavos’s navy must be drawn South. Their strength at Sea should not be at play, or rather should count for very little. Pentos would not be able to hold out against Braavos if they start to land troops.”  
  
  
He was stopped from speaking further as someone approached their table, looking to speak with Aegon and Serenei. Aegon turned to look and saw Ser Harrold Ryger of the Company with what looked like an old woman in tow.  
  
  
“My prince,” Ser Harrold said, bowing deeply, “I am yet to present my gift in celebration of your marriage. I am of no great wealth. But I have brought something that might be more valuable.”  
  
  
“Is it the old woman, Ser?” Aemon asked from Aegon’s side. “We do not take slaves, lest you forget, Ser Knight. We keep to the Seven and we have been ordained by our gods to shun slavery. So should you, having been anointed a knight in light of the Seven.” Aemon frowned.  
  
  
“I am no slaver, your grace. I hold to the Seven, truer than most folk have become after leaving our lands for this foreign soil,” Ser Ryger said. He turned to address Aegon. “My prince, I was a child when the Dance ended, barely 7 namedays old. My father had died in the fighting and my uncle was now lord of the Keep. I could not stay back there, near my home, living off of my uncle’s scraps.”  
  
  
“One day I was riding near Harrenhal with my companions. We had gone into the small woods adjoining the God’s eye when we came upon a crude shack. A woodswitch lived there, my prince, and she told me my future. She told me that I would not realize my destiny unless I left the Riverlands for someplace far away, beyond the reach of my uncle. And it is now, after having served you that I realized that it was true. Serving under you has given me riches, glory and much more. So, this is my gift to you, my prince. Behold, your future.”  
  
Aegon leaned forward and watched with bated breath as the old woman came forward. Aemon scoffed from beside Aegon and Serenei gripped Aegon’s hand tightly under the table as the woman reached them. The woman herself was horribly old, her skin wrinkly and sagging, liver spots dotting her face and her hair so thin she could have been bald. The woman stopped just as she touched the table Aegon and the others were seated at and made a sort of half bow, half curtsey.  
  
  
“What nonsense is this? Seeing the future? Men are not made for such things, Ser Knight. This is heresy,” Aemon exploded. Aegon’s tension was mounting. He was gripped by a vigorous itch to find out his destiny. The path lay just in front of him. He shushed Aemon with a wave of his hand and motioned for the witch to continue.  
  
  
She spoke something in her own language, which was not Lyseni, nor any other Valyrian dialect and motioned towards Aegon. Aegon, who did not understand what she had just said, turned to Ser Harrold. Ser Harrold made her repeat it once more before translating.  
  
  
“Your hand, my prince. She asks for your hand,” Ser Harrold clarified. Aegon chucked before withdrawing his hand from Serenei’s grasp and presenting it to the old woman.   
  
  
“What, will she read my palm?” Aegon asked, half japing.  
  
  
The woman held Aegon’s palm with one hand and with the other she reached into the folds of the long, layered dress she wore. Aemon and Serenei tensed from either side of him and Ser Deny Bracken, who stood behind Ser Harrold, with a package of his own, drifted his hand to the pommel of the dagger at his hip. Aegon rolled his eyes at their paranoia and refocused his attention on the woman. She had withdrawn a needle from within her robes and Aegon’s attention caught on that. It was of a deep black and seemed to have a glossy shine to it in the torchlit hall.   
  
  
“Dragonbone…” Aemon whispered from Aegon’s side.  
  
  
The woman held Aegon’s hand firmly and pricked his index finger with the dragonbone needle. A drop of blood slowly welled at the place where Aegon had been pricked and the witch pinched it, drawing more blood. Aegon hissed at her action, but the witch ignored him, seemingly transfixed by the slowly accumulating blood. Once she deemed that enough blood had been let, she put the finger in her mouth and sucked at it, drinking the blood.   
  
  
At once, she let go of Aegon’s hand and took a step back, staggering. Her eyes went wide and her hands trembled from where she held them to her chest. She was muttering something under her breath in her own language and Ser Harrold leaned down to hear her. The witch was in a stupor however and her words were incomprehensible to everyone there. A small tendril of unease crept into Aegon’s heart at this display. Then, the woman spoke in High Valyrian, in broken snippets. Aegon could only understand little of what broken Valyrian she spoke.  
  
  
“Prince … King … Prince … Death … “ she raved, over and over. Ser Oscar, who Aegon had just noticed, pushed through the small crowd that had gathered at the table.  
  
  
“That’s enough out of you,” he barked at the witch. Then he turned to Ser Harrold. “Is this what you wanted to achieve? Get her out of here before she spells all of our’s doom, you fool,” he shouted at Ser Harrold. Ser Harrold took the witch by the elbow and dragged her out, suitably chastised. The spectacle finished, the guests turned back to their own business, thinking it was some form of entertainment or som even gossiping about her prediction wondering who the prince and king were or who would die.   
  
  
Aegon himself was shaken. What did the witch mean when she spoke? Was the King in some danger? Or was it Daeron? Would he have a chance to prevent their death? Aegon could not put the thought out of his mind. Here he had a chance to protect someone of his family from a possible death and all he had to do was to figure out what the witch had said. Lost as he was in his thoughts, he did not notice when Ser Denys Bracken stepped forward, eager to present his offering.  
  
  
“My prince, I have for you the bounty of the east,” he announced pompously. Aegon waved his hand absently and Denys hastened to display his gift. He unwrapped the package and inside was a length of shimmering, bluish cloth.  
  
  
“True silk, my prince. From the Far East in Yi-Ti and Leng. Not the pale imitations that the Myrish strive to produce but only the most perfect production,” Ser Denys announced. Aegon, however, was too lost in his thoughts and barely responded. Serenei noticed his state and spoke in his stead.  
  
  
“We thank you, Ser Denys. It is truly a worthy gift,” Serenei said graciously. Ser Denys puffed up in pride and went back to his place seemingly satisfied at having shown his devotion.  
  
  
Ser Denys was followed by Ser Jon Harte who had brought a mechanical dragon from Lorath which moved around the table after Ser Jon had turned a key embedded into it’s back. Serenei played the part of the graceful lady and accepted their gifts even as Aegon turned the witch’s words in his head.  
  
  
And so the night went on, with many Lyseni magisters coming forward to present their own offerings to their First Magister’s daughter. Beside Aegon, Aemon slowly got more and more drunk and Aegon watched detachedly as Aemon withdrew more and more into himself as he drank. Aegon was about to say something to Aemon when Caegal Nograthien stood up to speak. Caegal looked around the room, waiting for the din to die down. Then, he spoke.  
  
  
“The bedding!” he announced and Serenei was led away by her own entourage of ladies-in-waiting and some of the favoured slaves even as Aegon was led away by his own men. They muttered drunkenly underneath their breath as they led Aegon around the manse.  
  
  
“‘Tis not right. A bedding should mean we take the bride and the women take the groom. And why do we need to parade the groom around the manse anyway? That’s a whole load of work,” someone complained. Aemon, was also part of the group that was leading Aegon around the manse shushed the one who had spoken, while Aegon chuckled.  
  
  
“These are their customs and we’re going to follow them while we are here,” Aegon said and the men seemed to accept this.  
  
  
Eventually, the men finished their circuit of the manse and deposited Aegon outside the doors to the bride’s rooms. Aegon pushed the doors open and entered to find Serenei sitting on the bed, wearing a silken shift and nothing else. He smiled and went to greet her, placing a hand on her shoulders as he reached her.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Aegon was woken from his sleep as he heard an urgent banging on the door.   
  
  
“My prince. You are needed. A matter of great import has come up,” someone from outside said through the door.   
  
  
Aegon groggily sat up on the bed, extricating himself from Serenei’s embrace as she lay sleeping beside him. She stirred as he got up and he leant down to whisper in her ear.  
  
  
“I’ll be back. My men have need of me,” he said. Serenei did not wake up and grunted, drawing the covers around herself as she slumbered on.   
  
  
Aegon looked around, noticing that the room was still dark. If he had to estimate, it was around the hour of the bat and the sun would not rise for a few more hours yet. The hour was very late, or very early depending on how one looked at it. Aegon groped blindly around the room for his hose and a tunic and was putting them on when the door banged once more.  
  
  
“Aegon? Lad, come out quick. Something terrible has happened.” It was Ser Oscar. Aegon suddenly felt a jolt of anticipation and fear shoot through him. He opened the door and went outside and saw Ser Oscar and Ser Jon waiting for him.  
  
  
“What is it? What happened?” Aegon asked.  
  
  
“It is your brother, my prince. A servant tried to steal the dragon eggs … “ Ser Jon started.   
  
  
Aegon felt as if a ball of lead was dropped into his gut. He did not wait to hear the rest and ran. He ran all the way to Aemon’s chambers. A small group was gathered outside of his brother’s doors and a slave was lighting the sconces around throwing the scene into stark illumination. Lord Alyn and Caegal stood outside the room, with a few of the household guards talking in hushed voices. Lord Alyn looked up when Aegon approached and spoke his voice tinged with sorrow.  
  
  
“Aegon … ,” he greeted, but Aegon was too far gone to care and pushed through the men to enter the room and suddenly stopped cold in his tracks, his heart unwilling to believe what his eyes saw.  
  
  
The room looked as if a storm had blown through with all of its items strewn about. There were clear signs of a fight and Aegon could even see blood spilt on the walls. And in the middle of the room, lying in a pool of blood, motionless, was Aemon.  
  
  
Aegon reached him and fell to his knees beside where Aemon lay, touching Aemon gingerly with one hand, trying to shake him awake. Aemon remained unresponsive and some part of Aegon understood what had happened but a better part of him denied it. He shuffled closer on his knees and took Aemon’s head onto his lap, cradling it, even as tears fell from his own eyes.  
  
  
“Brother, Aemon, what are you doing?” he whispered. “Is this a jape? I do not find this very funny. And neither would Naerys if she were here. Come on, get up. Let us go back to Westeros, back home. Your children are waiting for you. Aemon…”  
  
  
Aemon remained still. Aegon found that he was shaking and then realized that he was sobbing, and clutched Aemon closer to his chest even as his tears came out faster. Someone, perhaps Lord Alyn, put a hand on his shoulder, but he did not care. All he cared for was Aemon and Aemon was dead.   
  
  
It must have been only a few seconds or perhaps an hour, Aegon could not tell which. He was aware of some disturbance near him. He looked up and saw the hulking form of Ser Jon Harte holding up someone by the scruff of his collar. The man was clearly injured and was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds on his body. He was barely responsive and just lolled about as Ser Jon shook him roughly. With a jolt, Aegon realized that this was the servant who had served him wine just yesterday.   
  
  
Rage bubbled through Aegon like a spring and his hand went around the nearest weapon he could find, Dark Sister. He got up, pushed Ser Jon aside and skewered the man in the heart where he was slumped against the wall. He twitched a few times before died. Just as he died Aegon, and the others who were in the room, bore witness to the man’s features as they changed. It looked as if a stream of water washed away the man’s face, and as he died he took the form of another.  
  
  
“A Faceless Man … “ Ser Oscar whispered. Ser Denys, who Aegon had just noticed, crossed himself with the seven-pointed star even as Ser Jon took a step back in fright.  
  
  
“Why?” Aegon asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “What do they have against Aemon? He should have killed me in Aemon’s stead and I would have died gladly.”  
  
  
“The eggs, Aegon,” Lord Alyn said. “Perhaps he was told that he had to kill the one who held the eggs and bring them back.”  
  
  
“No one knew you had them. You were too far away while on the battlefield the past year. Now was the only chance they had,” Ser Oscar said.   
  
  
Perhaps it was meant to be comforting but all Aegon felt was despair. He looked to Aemon’s form lying on the ground and only then noticed the eggs beside him. All three were safe and Aemon had paid for that with his life. The eggs shone in the light from the corridor, covered as they were in Aemon’s blood.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how the chapter is. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Any feedback is appreciated.


	14. Daena I

King’s Landing, Early 159 AC  
  
  
 ** _Daena_**  
  
  
Daena looked at the _Lady Baela_ as it was docking in the harbour. The ship was sighted near enough to an hour ago and it still hadn’t docked. Daena bobbed her leg up and down impatiently and the pony she was on, shuffled around as if it had sensed her impatience. She turned around to look at who had gathered and spied her uncle Viserys astride a horse of his own flanked by Ser Donnel Cox and Ser Symon Gaunt of the Kingsguard. Just then, the litter carrying Naerys was brought to the docks by the servants. _Finally!_ Daena got off her pony and went over to Naerys. Ser Donnel followed.  
  
  
“You don’t need to trail me here, Ser. Why would anyone attack me here, in the open and in King’s Landing, no less?” Daena asked. After her father had died, Daena had found out that she was being trailed by Kingsguard wherever she was going. It was only a single moon since her brother had been coronated, but this new measure of security irked Daena to no end.  
  
  
“It does not behove for a Kingsguard to be lax in his duties, your grace. The King has charged me with your protection and protect you, I shall,” Ser Donnel responded in a monotone.  
  
  
“And will you follow your king even if he orders you to go against your knightly vows?” Daena asked, hoping to break Ser Donnel’s emotionless mask.  
  
  
“That is something I will deal with if such a thing happens, princess,” Ser Donnel said, but there was a wry twist to his lips and Daena took it as a victory. By the time the pair had reached to where Naerys’s litter was being lowered, Naerys had just stepped out of it.  
  
  
“Eager to meet Aemon then?” Daena asked Naerys, smirking.  
  
  
“I could ask the same to you. Did you set your sights on my husband?” Naerys countered, a smirk of her own on her face.  
  
  
“What! No! Ugh, why would you even think that? I only came here because I was bored in the Keep,” Daena said.  
  
  
“I thought you were good friends with Lord Blackwood’s daughter, Missa or whatever her name was?” Naerys asked Daena.  
  
  
“It’s Melissa and yes, I am good friends with her, but she’s so uptight, you know. She doesn’t even come with me when I go and practise with the bow. She says it’s not womanly and things like that,” Daena said. She made a pinched face and pursed her lips. Naerys burst out laughing.  
  
  
“Well, she is not wrong. War and fighting are not really womanly arts,” Naerys said.  
  
  
“Well, that’s what you think,” Daena said and turned up her nose imperiously.  
  
  
Naerys laughed once more and turned to face the docks. Behind them, some more of the hangers-on at court had also gathered in a bid to welcome Lord Alyn and Aemon, hoping that this would buy them some favour with the Hand and the Master of Ships. All of them were either shallow enough to think that it would work or were stupid enough to think that it was a good plan. Daena snorted. As if.  
  
  
The ship had finally docked and Daena was able to make out the form of three, no four people on the deck. One of them, she recognized as Lord Alyn and she waved. The other was a man in plate armour but unhelmed. He had greying, red hair and a beaten face that looked like someone had left it out in the sun for too long. Then, there was a woman on board too and Daena discovered, much to her jealousy, that she was very beautiful. But it was the last person caught Daena’s eye. He looked really familiar. He had the silvery-blonde hair that was characteristic of Valyrians. Daena thought that he might be Lord Alyn’s kinsman. But Aemon himself was nowhere to be found on the ship.  
  
  
“Do you see Aemon anywhere?” Daena asked Naerys. Naerys was standing on the tips of her toes trying to identify the men on deck.  
  
  
“No. I don’t see him. But that person on the deck there…, “ Naerys trailed off.  
  
  
“He looks very familiar, doesn’t he? I could have sworn I saw him before,” Daena said. She was glad that he was a familiar face. It meant she wasn’t losing her eyesight, at least.  
  
  
“By the gods! It’s Aegon,” Naerys exclaimed.  
  
  
“What? Which Aegon?” Daena asked, but a cold feeling settled in her stomach. She felt that she would not like the answer.  
  
  
“My brother, Aegon. How many other Aegons do we know?” Naerys asked. She continued before Daena could reply. “Why does he have Dark Sister on his hip? Did something happen to Aemon?”  
  
  
“Why is he here? His exile isn’t over yet. Did he think he could come back now that father is dead?” Daena asked, outraged. The embers of her hate for Aegon were stoked once more.  
  
  
“Perhaps. I don’t know. He seems to have grown out his beard. He looks just like Aemon did,” Naerys said distractedly.  
  
  
“Did you see the scar? Perhaps someone tried to kill him,” Daena said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.  
  
“Don’t say things like that,” Naerys said sharply. She was wringing her hands as the gangplank was being lowered onto the dock and looked to be agitated.  
  
  
Naerys ran forward as Aegon disembarked and reached him before anyone else could. She asked Aegon something in hushed tones, something Daena could not make out. By then, Daena’s uncle, Viserys had also reached them. Aegon said something in reply, too low for Daena to her. She could have gone forward, but something held her back. She did not think she could control herself in his presence.  
  
  
 _Slap!_  
  
  
Daena looked on in shock as Naerys hit Aegon across his face then crumbled down crying. Her father gathered her into his arms and Naerys continued to sob. The rest of the court was looking at the spectacle. _This would satisfy their appetites for a few moons at least_ , Daena thought. She made her way to Naerys and heard Lord Alyn speak.  
  
  
“... we sent a raven from Driftmark. It should have arrived by now,” Lord Alyn said.  
  
  
“There was no raven. You should have waited in Driftmark for an acknowledgement of this issue instead of coming here directly,” Daena’s uncle said, an undercurrent of warning in his tone.  
  
  
“Please, father. I was the one who urged Lord Alyn to hurry. The Lyseni have embalmed the body to the best of their abilities but I felt that it would be optimal not to tarry,” Aegon interjected.  
  
  
“Silence!” Viserys thundered and Daena flinched even though the anger was not directed towards her. She had never seen her uncle angry ever before and this frightened her.  
  
  
“You dare offer justifications even after what you’ve done? The moment I heard news of Braavos cutting off ties with us, I suspected it had something to with you,” Viserys said angrily.  
  
  
Despite her feelings towards Aegon, Daena could not help but cringe when she heard her uncle shout at him. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard, but Ser Symon Gaunt and Ser Donnel Cox had acted quickly. The lordlings who had flowed them from the Keep to the harbour were quickly ushered away and even the docks felt empty. It would not do for their subjects to see infighting in the Targaryens. Daeron had always said that their position was precarious now that they were without dragons.  
  
  
“Let the lad be, lord Hand,” the other man said, “he acted in the way he thought to be correct. It was no crime of his to liberate the treasures that the Braavosi have stolen from the Targaryens in the years past. In light of recent developments, it might be justifiable for you not to commend him, but the blame for Prince Aemon’s death lies on one’s shoulders but the Braavosi.”  
  
  
Daena gasped. _Aemon was dead!_ She could not believe it. Aemon who had always made light work of any opponent? Aemon who was matchless in the yard? That Aemon, dead in Essos? Daena felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Her father had died not even a month prior and the Gods were so cruel as to take away her cousin too. Her eyes fell on Naerys then, who was still sobbing from her place in her father’s arms.  
  
  
Daena pushed through the circle of men and took Naerys into her arms. She glared at Aegon with all of the force she could muster. Judging by how Aegon even failed to register her presence, her attempt at intimidation seemed to have failed.  
  
  
“And who are you, Ser, that you would presume to lecture me on matters regarding my son?” Viserys asked coldly.  
  
  
“I would not presume that much, your grace. Your son might have acted without thinking through the consequences but do not blame him for his brother’s death. You do not need to. He has already taken the blame upon himself. And as to who I am, well, I am but a humble soldier. You would know of me as having fought for your mother and ending the Dance at the Battle of the Kingsroad. Ask Bloody Ben Blackwood, my lord hand, of Ser Oscar Tully and he shall tell you of my deeds,” the man said.  
  
  
Daena looked to where her uncle Viserys was seething at having been interrupted but before he could say anything Lord Alyn jumped in.  
  
  
“Now is not the time for bragging Ser Oscar. We have yet to take the body into the Keep and this requires discretion. Once we are inside and this has been relayed to the Prince, we can decide on what to do with Braavos,” Lord Alyn said.  
  
  
“The King,” Daena blurted out.  
  
  
“What?” Aegon asked and all of the men gathered there turned to face her as if just now realizing that Daena was present.  
  
  
“Daeron is the King. It has been almost a moon since father died,” Daena said to Lord Alyn, ignoring Aegon despite him having asked the question.  
  
  
“Yes. Yes. Pardon me, I must have forgotten in this excitement. ‘Tis a bad omen, all these deaths at the same time,” Lord Alyn said and the other man, Ser Oscar, crossed himself with the seven-pointed star.  
  
  
“Bad omen or not, we need to get back to the Keep,” Viserys said and turned to Lord Alyn.  
  
  
“Wait, father,” Aegon interrupted, “might I present to you, my wife.”  
  
  
Aegon gestured towards the ship and Daena saw the woman, who had been standing on the deck, start to walk down the gangplank, flanked by her own escort. Once she had reached to where they were gathered, Viserys took her hand in his and laid a kiss to it. She blushed demurely at it and Daena felt anger rise through her.  
  
  
“My lady, I trust the crossing was pleasant?” Daena’s uncle asked.  
  
  
“Yes, my lord. But, I did not think my husband would be assaulted as soon as he got back,” she said, sounding amused.  
  
  
Naerys had, by then, wiped off her tears and looked over at her goodsister curiously. At this statement, she let out a watery chuckle and spoke.  
  
  
“You must forgive me. I was taken in by my emotion,” Naerys said.  
  
  
“Oh, I understand completely. I have been married to Aegon for only a moon’s turn and yet, I feel as if I could not live without him. It was unbelievably tragic what happened to Prince Aemon. Braavos will have to pay for this. They have grown very arrogant now and it is even more obvious across the Sea, in Essos,” the woman said and she grasped both of Naerys’s hands in her own,  
  
  
Daena felt nauseous as she thought of the woman and Aegon together. She was prevented from making her opinions on the matter known, however, as Naerys spoke over her.  
  
  
“But where are my manners? I am Naerys, of House Targaryen and this is Daena, of House Targaryen as well, my cousin. I hope I am correct in presuming that you are the First Magister’s daughter?” Naerys said. The other woman smiled. It was a beautiful smile and despite Daena’s earlier jealousy at her beauty, she found herself warming up to her.  
  
  
“I am Serenei, of House Nograthien. Is that how you put it?” she asked, her tone belying her anxiousness and Daena felt herself smiling. She had thought at first, that this was some foreign woman come to steal her place at court, but she knew as much about it as Daena did. Daena liked that she was open with her faults. It reminded her of her own mother.  
  
  
“Yes, but you would be a princess now that you’ve married Aegon,” Daena interjected.  
  
  
“Well, Aegon told me that it would be enough to introduce myself as Serenei of Lys. That it was all anyone would care about anyway,” Serenei said.  
  
  
“Don’t worry about all that. You’ll be fine,” Daena said. Serenei looked at her and smiled, but this one was a different smile. A shy smile and Daena wanted to reassure Serenei all of a sudden. To tell her that she would be fine here in King’s Landing. Serenei spoke up before Daena could say anything.  
  
  
“I hope that it would be fine if I thought of you as my friends?” Serenei asked as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. Daena could not resist anymore. Serenei looked like someone had kicked her puppy. Daena leaned forward and hugged her.  
  
  
“Of course. We are family now after all,” Daena said and Naerys smiled.  
  
  
Daena turned around, perceiving some disturbance behind her. A few of the men on the ship, who seemed to be wearing clothing of a distinctly foreign style were bringing a casket down the gangplank. A casket the size of a fully grown man. In an instant, Naerys had rushed over. The casket looked heavy but it was not decorated. It was closed tightly and sounded as if there was some liquid inside.  
  
  
“Is that…?” Daena asked Serenei.  
  
  
“Yes. We have embalmed his body, but it is not permanent. You are the last of the Valyrians, the same as us. The body must be burned. The Velaryon lord thought to burn the prince’s body back in Lys, but Aegon wanted to bring it here, back to his family,” Serenei said, sorrow etched on her face.  
  
  
This was not something Daena had expected of Aegon. To her, he was always and would be the callous villain who had killed her brother. Perhaps, he had thought it would endear him to Viserys and Daeron. Not that Daeron needed much prompting in that regard. _The way Daeron speaks of Aegon, you’d think he has not been exiled at all, or that he did not kill Baelor_ , Daena thought bitterly.  
  
  
A heavily built man, also in armoured in the same manner as Ser Oscar walked down the gangplank after the casket had been lowered. As he came closer to the group, he bowed to Aegon. Daena’s blood boiled at that. She knew he had brought all these men here to try and usurp Daeron’s throne.  
  
  
“My prince, the preparations are done,” he said.  
  
  
“Very well. Have the men begin to take it to the Keep. I trust the Kingsguard would not object to leading the way for the men?” Aegon asked.  
  
  
“No, they should not. Ser Symon, you shall lead these men and …,” Viserys said and trailed off, looking at the large knight for his name.  
  
  
“Ser Jon Harte, if it pleases my lord hand,” the knight said.  
  
  
“Yes. Ser Symon, you will lead Ser Jon Harte and his men with the …, with the casket into the Keep. Let the Grandmaester know of its … contents. He shall prepare my son for cremation,” Viserys said, his voice strong as steel and unwavering.  
  
  
“Father …,” Naerys pleaded.  
  
  
“No, child. We shall consult with the King. Perhaps, he might want to let Aemon’s body lie in state. And there is the issue of the Braavosi as well. Do not fret. We shall have an answer by the end of this day. This, I promise you,” Viserys declared.  
  
  
“Then, I wish to travel with, …, with the body,” Naerys said the last part in a whisper.  
  
  
“Let them go quickly, child. By the time you reach the Keep in your litter, the Grandmaester might have already prepared the body. You don’t want to see him as he is,” Lord Alyn said, a sad smile on his face.  
  
  
Naerys nodded and wiped the few tears that formed once more upon seeing Aemon’s body or rather its container. She walked over to where her litter was placed and she was about to climb into it when she stopped and looked in the direction leading into the River Gate. Daena looked up to see what she was looking at. A man was riding towards them at a great speed on a horse. A knight of the Kingsguard. As he reached closer, Daena identified him as Ser Olyvar Oakheart. He reached them and dismounted quickly, bowing to the gathered personages and regaining his breath at the same time.  
  
  
“My lord hand, the King has sent me. A raven was received from Driftmark. It contains grave news regarding Prince Aemon. I was sent here with instructions,” he said earnestly  
  
  
“Too late, Ser Knight. As you can see, we have already arrived,” Aegon said in a mocking tone.  
  
  
“Arrived you might have, Ser, but the King has given me a duty to perform and perform it I shall,” Ser Olyvar said coldly.  
  
  
Daena felt a small thrill of exhilaration pass through her upon seeing someone talk down to Aegon. The fact that it was one of the Kingsguard made it only better in her eyes. Both Aegon and Viserys bristled at his tone and drew themselves up to respond. Before Aegon said anything, however, Viserys spoke.  
  
  
“Take a care of how you speak, Ser. That is my son you are referring to,” Viserys said.  
  
  
He did not glare, but the severity of his expression conveyed his anger nonetheless. Ser Olyvar recognized his mistake immediately and bowed deeply, looking contrite. This seemed to mollify Aegon somewhat and Daena was disappointed. She had hoped that Ser Olyvar would have insulted Aegon some more.  
  
  
“My apologies, your grace. I did not recognise you. It was presumptuous of me to speak in such a manner. I hope I have your forgiveness,” Ser Olyvar said.  
  
  
“It matters not. You say the King has given you a duty. See to it,” Aegon said.  
  
  
Ser Olyvar bowed and gestured to a few men behind him. They must have arrived on foot behind Ser Olyvar and looked to be wearing Targaryen livery. _Men-at-arms_ , Daena thought. They surrounded the casket which had Aemon in it and Ser Olyvar spoke to Aegon’s pet knight. They seemed to be talking about the route to take and Daena shifted her attention back to Naerys.  
  
  
Naerys and Serenei were getting into the litter which would take them back to the Red Keep. Ser Donnel had just brought some more horses for Lord Alyn and Aegon. Ser Symon, who had handed over the responsibility of transporting the casket to the Keep over to Ser Olyvar, walked over to Daena with her pony.  
  
  
As Daena got on her pony, she saw Aegon’s men surround the litter carrying Naerys and Serenei. When the group prodded their horses forward as one, more of Aegon’s men fell into step with them. Her uncle and Lord Alyn paid it no mind and they continued to talk with Aegon and Ser Oscar as they rode towards the Keep, but this display of Aegon’s power here, within the Capital made her apprehensive.  
  
  
Daena threw a glance towards Aegon who was smiling as something her uncle Viserys had said and steeled herself. The first thing she would do when she got back to the Keep was tell Daeron what she thought of Aegon. He was here to usurp Daeron’s throne, she was sure of this, and she would make sure everyone else would be too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you the latest chapter. The funny thing is that this is actually half of the bigger chapter that I've written, but it seemed too big, so I cut it in half. The good news is that the next chapter is going to come by quicker unless something significant crops up.
> 
> Anyway, do let me know what you think of it. Please leave some feedback, I thrive off it. Did you like it, hate it, want to complain? Please feel free to do so.


	15. Daena II

Early 159 AC, King’s Landing.  
  
  
 ** _Daena_**  
  
  
As soon as the group had made their way over to the Red Keep, Daena got off her pony and handed it over to a waiting groom. Without waiting for Naerys and Serenei to arrive in their litter, she ran, hoping to reach Daeron before Aegon could get to him.  
  
  
As she ran into Maegor’s holdfast, she almost bumped into Lord Blackwood. She stopped abruptly, just shy of colliding with him and panted, catching her breath.  
  
  
“Princess, what a pleasant surprise,” Lord Blackwood said.  
  
  
“My lord,” Daena replied and dropped into a curtsey. “I was hoping you could direct me to my brother, the King,” she said.  
  
  
“Of course. We just met in his chambers. He should still be there. We were discussing matters of the realm, but you wouldn’t find any of that interesting,” he said, smiling, and tapped the side of his nose as if he was hiding some great secret from her.  
  
  
Daena smiled and curtsied once more. She walked past him quickly and started running once more after she rounded the corner. She sprinted up two flights of stairs and turned into the corridor leading to her brother’s rooms. Just as she was about to clear the final stretch a voice cut through her, bringing her to an instant stop.  
  
  
“Daena! What do you think you are doing, running through the halls? Walk properly, as a lady of your standing must,” her mother ordered her. Daena turned around and lo and behold, Daenaera Velaryon was standing in the corridor which held the royal apartments, her hands on her hips and an irritated expression on her face. She marched over to Daena who was too busy drawing in huge gulps of air and fanning her face with her hands to notice her mother’s expression.  
  
  
“Stand up straight and do not slouch. It is very unbecoming of you to behave in this way. Your brother is the King and gods willing, one day you might become the Queen. Is this how you wish to present yourself to the court?” she asked sharply. Her ladies-in-waiting nodded their heads in agreement. _Let them do that when I’m the Queen. I’ll show them_ , Daena thought viciously.  
  
  
“But mother…,” Daena whined.  
  
  
“No buts. What are you doing here, running about? Didn’t you go to see docks for your cousin’s arrival?” Daenaera asked.  
  
  
“I did, but something serious has happened and I must tell Daeron about it!” Daena exclaimed hoping that her urgency was conveyed to her mother. Daenaera frowned.  
  
  
“What is it that is so serious that you had to run all the way to Daeron’s chambers?” Daenaera asked.   
  
  
Daena bit her lip as she debated whether to tell her mother here or not. She saw Bethany Darklyn and Hazel Celtigar in the group behind her mother. Both their fathers were raised to the Small Council by Viserys and Daena feared that if she were to tell her suspicions to mother in front of them, this news would find its way back to Aegon through their fathers and further on through her uncle Viserys. She was lacking in time, however. Aegon might come to meet Daeron any minute and the more she tarried, the more she risked. Steeling herself, she made her decision. The court would find out the truth sooner or later.  
  
  
“Aemon is dead,” she announced and saw Leonette Rosby gasp and cover her mouth. The tramp put on a face of sorrow but Daena saw through that. She had her eyes on Aemon for quite a while and Daena was glad her plans were foiled even if it had to be done in such a tragic manner.  
  
  
“What?” her mother asked sharply.  
  
  
“Cousin Aemon is dead. It was apparently the Braavosi or so I heard at the docks. Aegon is here with Aemon’s body and Dark Sister,” Daena said.  
  
  
“Your cousin Aegon, you mean,” her mother asked.  
  
  
“Yes and…,” Daena said and trailed off. This was the moment. She had to either commit or not tell her mother.  
  
  
“And…?” her mother asked.  
  
  
“And he’s come with a group of his own men. Knights too. I fear his intentions,” Daena said, the last part in a whisper so that only her mother could hear.  
  
  
“His exile is not yet finished. He should not have come back,” Gemma Bar Emmon interjected.  
  
  
“He is a kinslayer and utterly devoid of honour. He must have heard news of my father’s death and hastened back, hoping Daeron would pardon him,” Daena spat.  
  
  
Daenaera frowned but said nothing. Daena looked on triumph as the ladies came to the conclusions she wanted them to get to. Daenera addressed Daena.  
  
  
“Who did he bring with him?” she asked.  
  
  
“At least fifty men and two knights,” Daena said and added, ”a Ser Oscar Tully and Ser Jon Harte,” upon her mother’s inquisitive look.  
  
  
“Ser Jon Harte, you say. Go on to your brother’s chambers quickly. You have given me much to think about,” Daenaera said.   
  
  
Daena nodded and ran down the corridor once more, forgetting the cause of her halt in the first place. She reached the end of the corridor where her brother’s rooms lay. As she came closer she noticed Ser Agramore Cobb and Ser Brus Smallgood guarding the doors. The ageing Ser Agramore was slouched on the wall beside the door, while Ser Brus was looking outside of a window. When reached them, Ser Brus looked at her and smiled, bowing low while Ser Agramore poked his head inside to enquire whether the King was available. He got some reply from within and opened the door wide for her, bowing. As she entered the rooms, the doors closed behind her once more.  
  
  
Daena walked through the chambers, Ser Petyr Shawney, who was inside the chambers bowed at her approach and spoke.  
  
  
“He is within the bedchambers, your grace,” he said.  
  
  
Daena nodded and went further into the chambers. She walked into Daeron’s bedchamber and saw him sitting at a table looking at some papers while he swirled a goblet around in one hand. Daena walked up to him and he looked up just as she reached him. She plucked the goblet out of his hands and set it aside. Daeron reached for it and she held his arm, stopping him as he tried to take it.  
  
  
“Daena! Let me have it,” he said, sounding exasperated.  
  
  
“No. Stop drinking so much wine. It’s disgusting and it does not make you seem older,” Daena said and put the goblet on the far side of the table even farther from him than previously.  
  
  
Daeron smirked and trapped her against the table as he put both his arms around her and reached behind her to take the goblet which she had put on the other side of the table. Daena felt her face heat up at Daeron’s proximity and pushed him away. His smirk widened and he took a long draught from the goblet. Daena swatted at his arm.  
  
“So, what brings you here, my fair sister?” Daeron asked. Daena frowned as she remembered what she had come for.  
  
  
“Aemon is dead,” Daena said bluntly. Daeron’s face took on an expression of sadness and he sighed heavily.  
  
  
“I know. I received a raven from Driftmark a few hours earlier informing me of the fact. The raven did not explain any of the circumstances surrounding it, of course,” Daeron said. He continued before Daena could say anything.  
  
  
“I feel his loss deeply, Daena. He was my closest friend here and he was the only one, other than our uncle, who spoke his mind. And now, after his death, I find myself unable to muster even a single tear for his passing and I wonder what that means about me,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“Don’t worry about it Daeron. From what I heard at the docks, it was the Braavosi who were responsible,” Daena reassured. He nodded and took another gulp from the goblet.  
  
  
“This is news to me. That the Braaavosi would do such a thing leaves us no choice but to seek retribution or risk looking weak,” Daeron said in reply, his ire rising. His grip on the goblet tightened reflexively.  
  
  
“That is not all. Our cousin Aegon is also here. He came with Dark Sister on his hip and with knights and men of his own. Daeron, I’m afraid that he means to usurp your Throne. This reeks of a plot. I fear that he seeks the Throne in the same way Daemon the Rogue Prince did,” Daena said desperately.  
  
  
“It would do you well to remember that Daemon ‘the Rogue Prince’ as you call him, was your own grandsire,” Daeron said sternly. Daena made to reply but he spoke over her.  
  
  
“Besides, you think too lowly of Aegon. Exiled he might be, but I have faith in his devotion to me. And so should you. You are letting your feelings towards him cloud your judgement,” Daeron pronounced, causing Daena to grow irritated.  
  
  
“It is you who are letting your feelings cloud your judgement,” Daena snapped at Daeron. _Why does he not understand? Does he not care about the risk to his life?_ Daena thought despairingly. She was getting vexed and made to reply further but she was interrupted by the arrival of Ser Petyr Shawney. He stopped just outside Daeron’s bedchambers and both Daena and Daeron took a step away from one another, just then realizing how close to each other they were standing.  
  
  
“Your Grace, the Hand is here to see you along with Lord Velaryon and Prince Aegon,” Ser Shawney said.  
  
  
“Very well, let them in,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“No! Wait!” Daena exclaimed. Ser Petyr, who was about to go to the doors to let them in stopped. Daeron turned towards Daena and raised an eyebrow in enquiry. She fidgeted a little, thinking on how to phrase her request and then spoke.  
  
  
“I don’t want Aegon to know that I am here,” Daena said.  
  
  
“Well, how do you hope to accomplish that? There is no other way out of these rooms other than that door. You can leave if you do not wish to stay in his company. I will not force you to do that which you seem so set against,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“No, I want to stay, but hidden. So that I’ll be able to identify any lies he tries to spin,” Daena said. She was determined and Daeron sighed in defeat.  
  
  
“Do you really think he’ll try anything with uncle here? Besides, you cannot hold one mistake of his against him his whole life, Daena. This attitude of yours is really disappointing,” Daeron said in a chiding tone.  
  
  
“I don’t care! You are too blind to see his faults. I am not. I will stay here. I will… I will… I’ll hide under the bed,” Deana declared. She made her way over to the bed and lay down on the floor before shimmying under the bed and from her position under there, she could make out the legs of all the people in the rooms, provided they stood only near the table. Daeron walked over to her and knelt and bent over so that he could see her eye-to-eye. He sighed once more on seeing her determined expression and called out to Ser Petyr.  
  
  
“Let them in, Ser,” Daeron said and stood up, walking over to the desk and sitting behind it as he had been when Daena had walked in.  
  
  
Ser Petyr brought his legs together and sort of wobbled in his place which Daena thought to be him bowing. Then he went away and just a few seconds later Daena heard multiple sets of footsteps before seeing the feet making sounds come into her field of view. She recognized Lord Alyn by the Seahorses embroidered onto the leather of his boots. Her uncle and Aegon though, she could not place who was who. One of them had a sword at his hip while the other held what looked like a small sack in his hands. The three of them reached the table and made the same wobbly motion that Ser Petyr did, which Daena took for a bow.  
  
  
“Well met Lord Alyn, Aegon. It has been a long time since we saw each other. Too long,” Daeron said. Daena felt a flash of anger upon hearing Daeron speak with such familiarity towards Aegon.  
  
  
Then, one of the two, either Aegon or uncle Viserys came forward to the side of the table and took the sword hanging from their hip. Daena recognized it as Dark Sister. Her heart started beating faster. Aegon was about to do something, she was sure of it. She was about to call out from her place under the bed when Aegon knelt and held up the sword in both his hands, offering it to Daeron.  
  
  
“Your Grace, I present to you, Dark Sister. The ancestral sword of the Targaryens. It was given to Aemon, but it is your now as it ought to belong to the head of our house,” Aegon announced from his position at Daeron’s feet. _Damn him! Does he think this will endear him to Daeron? With Aemon’s death, the sword belongs to Daeron by rights_ , Daena thought.  
  
  
Daena watched as Daeron stood up and walked up to where Aegon knelt, face down, sword in his outstretched hands. He grasped Aegon by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet and into a hug. Daena scooted a bit further in order to observe the proceedings and saw Daeron whisper something into his ear before letting him go. Aegon had a small smile on his face after Daeron let him go which stoked the flames of Daena anger.  
  
  
“You do not need to kneel in front of me, Aegon. And especially not while we are alone. We were good friends before and I would like it if we become the same sort of friends once more,” Daeron said, smiling. Aegon seemed to hesitate a moment before replying.   
  
  
“As you wish, your Grace,” Aegon said and the smile on Daeron’s face faltered a little. This sent a burst of vindictive satisfaction through Daena. She hoped that Daeron would realize that the Aegon he saw before him was not the Aegon he remembered. Daeron cleared his throat once and spoke.  
  
  
“Keep the sword, Aegon. News of your exploits from across the sea has reached us even here in King’s Landing. You have shown yourself more than capable of wielding Dark Sister,” Daeron said magnanimously. Daena gritted her teeth. If Daeron bestowed Dark Sister upon Aegon, it would look as if he had Daeron’s favour. This would sway the lordlings at court to Aegon’s side. Daena was about to get up from under the bed and intervene when, once more, she was stopped by Aegon speaking.  
  
  
“I have no designs on this sword, your Grace,” Aegon said. Daena could hear the smug tone of his voice all the way from under the bed. She grit her teeth in anger while Aegon continued to speak.  
  
  
“I am no master of the sword and I cannot even wield it half as good as Aemon could have. I cannot, in good conscience, accept this gift, your Grace. But I do have a request to make if you are willing to hear it from me,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Of course. Anything,” Daeron said. _No! No! That’s what he wants! Don’t grant him anything!_ Daena wanted to shout, but she forced herself to keep quiet.  
  
  
“I would be eternally grateful if this sword was to be bestowed upon Aemon’s son once he comes of age. This sword belonged to his father and for it to be wielded by him after he becomes a knight would gladden my heart,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Is that all? You could have asked me for anything and I would have granted it. Lands, wealth, anything. Is this what you want?” Daeron asked.  
  
  
“That is all,” Aegon replied. Daena could see from her position under the bed as her uncle Viserys came around the table and put an arm around Aegon’s shoulders and smiled.  
  
  
“This would also bring peace to dear Aemon’s soul, your Grace. As it would to mine own heart. I implore you to do this,” Viserys pleaded.  
  
  
“Do not fret. I would have done this even if only Aegon had asked me of it. You did not need to have asked me at all, uncle. There is nothing wrong with Aegon’s request. Young Jaehaerys will wield Dark Sister once he becomes a knight. I hope I am right in assuming that you will want to take Jaehaerys as your page and then your squire,” Daeron asked Aegon.  
  
  
“I thank you for your kindness, your Grace,” Aegon said and bowed. Daena grit her teeth. Aegon would find some way to corrupt Jaehaerys and turn him over to his side now.  
  
  
“Think nothing of it, my friend,” Daeron said and continued after a pause, “Moving on to more serious matters, I wish to know the underlying cause of Aemon’s death. I have heard that the Braavosi were responsible, but I find myself lacking in the details.” Lord Alyn who was silent till then, spoke up.  
  
  
‘It was a Faceless Man. I saw it with my own eyes. As he died, he changed back to his true face as the magicks holding his illusion in place were unwrought,” Lord Alyn said.  
  
  
“And what business would a Faceless Man have with a Prince of our Realm?” Daeron asked.  
  
  
“Let me show you,” Lord Alyn said.   
  
  
He took the bag he was carrying and placed it on the table. Both Viserys and Aegon moved closer and Daena found her view to whatever it was, blocked. She tried to shift around, but her movement caused the bed to move and it shifted with a loud groan. Aegon turned around at the sound and looked at the bed. Daena held her breath. If she was discovered now …  
  
  
“It is nothing Aegon. The bed creaks sometimes, is all,” Daeron said and Aegon nodded and turned his back to the table. Lord Alyn had just opened the bag then and Daeron let out a soft gasp. He leaned forward and spoke something in a hushed whisper and got something back in reply.  
  
  
Daena sighed. They were obviously discussing something very interesting but she was sure Daeron would just brush her off if she were to ask anything. She rested her head in her arms and started to slowly drift off. Snippets of conversation managed to make their way into her ears and she nodded off as sleep claimed her.  
  
  
“... we must send them an ultimatum…”  
  
  
“War is the only option …. “  
  
  
“... foolish to risk a war on two fronts …”  
  
  
“... Lys will declare on Tyrosh within a moon’s turn…”  
  
  
“There is fighting in Braavos’s streets!” someone shouted and Daena jerked awake hitting her head on the bed above her. She let out a silent hiss of pain and rubbed at her head and tried to look at who had shouted. As she scooted a little further, she made out Ser Robert Darklyn’s flabby frame. _He must have come in while I was asleep_ , Daena thought. She wiped the sleep out of her eyes and tried to pay attention.  
  
  
“This is certainly news,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Indeed. The Sealord has been assassinated in broad daylight and his assailant was cut down in turn. The Prestayns blame the Antaryons for his death who have taken this opportunity to bring up old complaints. The city has been divided into two factions and bravos clash daily. Even their trade has been affected,” Ser Robert said breathlessly, excitement clear in his voice.  
  
  
“This is our chance. We can send gold to Pentos and induce them to destroy Braavos,” Aegon said excitedly.  
  
  
“No,” Daeron said bluntly and Daena felt some glee as she thought of Aegon being put in his place. Daeron turned to address Ser Robert.  
  
  
“Is the Iron Bank running or has it collapsed?” Daeron asked.  
  
  
“It is running, alright. They have barricaded themselves in there and hired their own guard comprised entirely of non-Braavosi peoples. Once someone emerges as the victor, they will open and it’ll be back to business,” Ser Robert said.  
  
  
“Yes! Even the Iron Bank is not working. Braavos will have no chance of hiring any Free Companies. We can destroy them once and for all,” Aegon crowed.  
  
  
“Think it through. If we allow Pentos to have its way, they’ll be the masters of Braavos, weakened as they have become. We cannot allow any which could challenge us in any way to rise in Essos. Even Lys must be stopped if they go so far to try and annex Tyrosh,” Daeron said.  
  
  
Daena saw as Aegon clenched his fist at having been denied his desire. She felt a vindictive glee course through her and shuffled back satisfied that Daeron wasn’t stupid and taking Aegon at his word. Aegon made to reply but he was cut over by Daeron.  
  
  
“Let us adjourn, for now, my lords,” Daeron said and continued to speak, “I wish for our cousin Aemon to be cremated by tonight. Tomorrow, we declare war on the Dornish and finish what the Conqueror started.”  
  
  
The man bowed and made their own farewells. Before they went outside, Viserys stopped Ser Robert and spoke to him.  
  
  
“Have the Lords Tyrell and Baratheon been made aware of the role they have to play tomorrow?” Viserys asked. Daeron looked up in interest.  
  
  
“Yes. I spoke with them just prior to coming here. They will do as they have to,” Ser Robert said.  
  
  
“Very well, then. Speak with them one more time today,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“As you will, your Grace,” Ser Robert said. He bowed deeply and made his way out of the chambers.   
  
  
There was silence for quite a while in the room and Daena could make out the sound of the door opening and closing as the lords made their way out one by one. Daeron sat at his desk and made to look at a few papers for some time. Daena was about to come out from under the bed when Daeron stood abruptly and walked over to where she was hiding. He knelt in front of her and spoke.  
  
  
“Come out, Daena. We need to go to the cremation. I was told that the Grandmaester has made all the preparations. Only we are lacking,” he said.  
  
  
Daena nodded and got out from her hiding place. When she stood up, Daeron came closer and brushed some dust from her dress though Daena noticed how and where his gaze and hands seemed to linger. Her face lit up in red even she felt gratified at the effect she had on her brother. After Daeron had finished, she twirled ‘round once.  
  
  
“How do I look?” Daena asked.  
  
  
“Very beautiful. But you need to change into black. Run along to your rooms and change your dresses. I shall wait for you outside,” Daeron said.  
  
  
“Outside my rooms?” Daena asked.  
  
  
“Yes, quickly now,” Daeron said.   
  
  
Daena nodded and started running. She ran through Daron’s chamber and stopped near the door, which Ser Petyr then pulled open for her. Daena ran once more through the corridor as she had a few hours before and reached her rooms which were guarded by men in Targaryen livery, who bowed as she approached. She opened the doors and closed it behind her. As she made her way deeper into her rooms, she spied Melissa Blackwood curled up on an armchair, strumming the lyre while Daena’s handmaiden sat near the armchair on the floor, listening to the music. Melissa looked up at her approach.  
  
  
“Daena, did you hear about Prince Aemon?” Melissa asked.  
  
  
“Yes, yes. But not now, I’m busy. Daeron is waiting outside. Jessie, bring me a black dress, appropriate for a funeral,” Daena said, framing the last part to her handmaiden. Jessie nodded and went further into the chambers. Melissa gasped and spoke.  
  
  
“Do you mean the King Daeron?” Melissa asked.  
  
  
“Of course, silly. How many other Daerons do you know?” Daena asked.  
  
  
“But I’m wearing nothing but a chemise! How will I greet him this state?” Melissa asked.  
  
  
“You won’t be greeting him. He’s waiting outside and I have to go quickly, we will be going to cousin Aemon’s cremation. I don’t know if you’re allowed either. The way Daeron said it felt like it would be a family only affair if you catch my meaning,” Daena said.  
  
  
Jessie reentered the rooms with several dresses in her hands and Daena quickly selected one and then Jessie helped her into it. Daena then had Jessie quickly brush her hair and she left the rooms as quickly as she came, promising Melissa that she’d be back soon. Daena stepped outside and she saw Daeron standing at a window opposite to the doors to her rooms, flanked by Ser Olyvar Oakheart and Ser Petyr Shawney.  
  
  
Daeron turned around at her approach and offered her his hand. She took it and they made their way to the courtyard between the Red Keep’s walls and Maegor’s Holdfast. They were the last to arrive. Daena saw her uncle Viserys and her mother talking about something in a hushed tone while Naerys and Serenei stood together. Naerys’s eyes were red, she had been crying recently and she held onto Serenei’s hand tightly.  
  
  
Daena looked around and saw her brother Aerys holding onto Rhaena’s hand while Elaena stood by. She excused herself from Daeron and made her way to them when she noticed Aegon. He was crouched near two children she recognized as Jaehaerys and Rhaenys. He was speaking with them and Daena turned her path towards them unable to stay her curiosity.   
  
  
Aegon had a bag with him and he took something out of it to give to Jaehaerys. Daena made out the form of a small dragon. Aegon twisted something in it’s back and _it moved!_ The miniature dragon moved around on Aegon’s palm and flapped its wings up and down and Jaeharys and Rhaenys looked at it in wonder and amazement. Aegon held it out for Jaehaerys to take and he took it, holding it gingerly in his hands as if he was afraid that applying any sort of pressure would break it.  
  
  
Aegon then reached into the bag once more and drew out a dress this time, made of a shimmering material. Even by looks alone, it was very soft and Daena was seized by an urge to rub the cloth against her cheek. Instead, she walked over to them and laid a hand each on the children’s shoulders.  
  
  
“You do realize that she’ll grow right out that dress,” she said to Aegon. He frowned as if just having considered that and scratched at his beard, thinking of what to do.  
  
  
“There is still quite a lot of cloth left. It is true silk from Yi-Ti. Nothing less for our little princess,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Indeed. And you could have given the dress to her mother. She’ll dirty it now, by dragging it around,” Daena said. Rhaenys must have realized that they were talking about her and squirmed a little in Daena’s grip. Daena let her go and she ran off to her mother.  
  
  
“Naerys is… not really well now. She did not even want to look at the children. She wept and said that her children reminded her of Aemon and that she could not stand looking at them,” Aegon said, sorrow and frustration evident in his tone.  
  
  
Daena said nothing and chose to look at Rhaenys instead. She had left her mother and ran over to Aerys, to whom she was showing off her dress. Aerys poked his tongue at her and she slapped him upside the head. Aerys, not one to be outdone, pulled at her hair. Rhaena and Elaena, instead of breaking apart the fight, stood there laughing. Jeahaerys, who till then had been silent in Daena’s arms, spoke up.  
  
  
“Thank you for the gift, my lord,” Jaehaerys said.  
  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I’m your uncle. It’s my job to give you as many gifts as you want,” Aegon said. Jeahaerys smiled at that and Daena saw Aegon gain a smile on his own face as he continued.  
  
  
“You don’t need to call me ‘my lord’ or some such. I am your uncle. You can call me uncle Aegon,” Aegon said.  
  
  
“Thank you, uncle Aegon,” Jaehaerys said once more and Aegon’s smile widened. He reached forward and ruffled Jaehaerys’s hair. Daena was about to say something when she heard Aegon’s name being called.  
  
  
“Aegon!” Viserys shouted from where he stood by the body, a burning torch in his hand. “Come over here and bring Jaehaerys with you,” he continued.  
  
  
Aegon nodded his assent and Daena let him take Jaehaerys into his arms. Daena watched as Aegon carried Jaehaerys over to where the pyre was set up before taking a torch of his own and handing one to Jaehaerys, who held it with both his hands. Together, Viserys, Aegon and Jaehaerys lit the pyre. The pyre caught fire and soon turned into a huge blaze. Daena wrinkled her nose as the smell of burning flesh assaulted her nose.  
  
  
She turned her attention back to Aegon and in the dim light of dusk, with firelight reflection off his face and tears streaming from his eyes, Daena found that she could almost forgive him for Baelor’s death. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is, part 2. I also had the 'You have a dragon standing in front of you' speech in this one, but it disrupted the flow, so I cut it out.
> 
> Do let me know how you felt. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. Any feedback is appreciated. I thrive off it.


	16. Lord Lyonel Tyrell

Late 159 AC  
  
  
 ** _Lord Lyonel Tyrell_**  
  
  
Lyonel Tyrell pressed his face into the crook of his lover’s neck and placed soft kisses on her skin. She squirmed a little in his arms and he let her go. Alys Peake stood up from her place on Lyonel’s lap and straightened her skirts a little and looked around the tent as if expecting her cousin’s men to catch her with Lyonel. Lyonel laughed deeply and spoke.  
  
  
“What are you worried about? The Lady Myrielle is surely with the other lords in prince Aegon’s tent. I told you that they would be holding their council now. You need not have any worry of being discovered,” Lyonel said. Alys frowned and put her hand on her hips and spoke.  
  
  
“You should be there too. What if someone was sent to find you?” Alys asked, wringing her hands.  
  
  
“Let me worry about all that,” Lyonel said. He reached out to her but just as he was about to touch her, the flap of the tent opened and Ser Petyr Shawney stepped in. He glanced at Alys Peake and a shadow of disgust passed over his features. Lyonel fumed. _Who did this knight think he was, to judge Alys so?_  
  
  
“Prince Aegon commands your presence in his tent. A conference is being held and as the Lord Paramount of the Reach, your attendance is required,” Ser Petyr said bluntly.  
  
  
Lyonel’s blood boiled. This knight, this upjumped servant from the lowliest line in the Riverlands dared to speak to him in such a tone? Lyonel drew himself up and stood to let this man know the extent of his displeasure. He gathered his cloak about himself and was about to speak but Shawney took that as a sign of him getting ready to leave and he left the tent, without even waiting for him. Lyonel let out a scream of anger and threw a goblet of wine against the dusty Dornish earth within his tent.  
  
  
The clanging produced by the goblet must have drawn the attention of the men near his tent and Ser Armond Caswell and Ser Samwell Rowan rushed inside, hands on the hilts of their swords. By then, some of Lyonel’s rage had cooled and Alys approached him, laying a hand on his shoulders and massaging them gently. As Armond and Samwell looked around the tent, Lyonel raised a hand to bring them to stop their efforts.  
  
  
“What’s wrong, Ly?” Samwell asked. “Did someone get in? Did the Dayne send an assassin?”  
  
  
Armond scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Sam. We might be investing High Hermitage, but Ly isn’t in command here, the Prince is. And the Sword of the Morning is no villain, unlike these Wyls and Blackmonts,” Armond said.  
  
  
“It was the Kingsguard,” Alys said and realization dawned on Armond and Samwell’s minds.  
  
  
“The filthy servant that he is, where does he get off of, treating me the way he does?” Lyonel demanded angrily.  
  
  
“It is not only you. He treats all of us Reachmen in the same way as if he were superior to us all,” Armond said.  
  
  
“Say the word, Ly and I shall have him taken care of. No one would be able to trace it back to you,” Samwell said.  
  
  
“Perhaps. For now, we must go to Prince Aegon’s tent forthwith. There cannot be any council without the Lord of the Reach and it does us no favours to keep the Sellsword Prince waiting,” Lyonel said. The group had a chuckle at Aegon’s epithet and made their way out of the tent. Alys fell into step with them and Lyonel turned to face her.  
  
  
“Don’t come with us. I shall ask Lady Myrielle for your hand after the council or sometime similar. Go to your own part of the camp and stay there,” Lyonel instructed. Alys looked dejected and pouted, looking up at him with her big, green eyes. Lyonel looked around to see if anyone was looking at them and placed a quick kiss to her lips and turned to Samwell Rowan.  
  
  
“Sam, escort Alys to her tent and ensure that she isn’t bothered on her way there. Armond, you shall accompany me to the council,” Lyonel said. Samwell nodded his assent and began to lead Alys away to her tent, who gave a look of longing and desire to Lyonel as she left which almost made him want to take her with him to Prince Aegon’s tent.  
  
  
Lyonel shook himself and turned away and started walking with purpose towards the massive tent which had been erected towards the centre of the camp. The men themselves, be it men-at-arms or the peasant levies forwent tents in favour of a bivouac with short, flat covers to protect against the biting cold of the Red Desert’s nights. The only high tents were those of the men’s lords, some of which would have even passed for pavilions.  
  
  
As Lyonel made his way over to Prince Aegon’s tent, he spied the banners of the Fossoways, the Bulwers, the Hightowers, the Redwynes, the Florents, the Oakhearts and so on. The banners stretched out as far as the eye could see all across the mountain pass where they were camped. If Lyonel stood on the tips of his toes and tried to look all the way across the pass he could even see the banners of the Westerlander army which was camped on the other side, besieging Skyreach.  
  
  
Lyonel and Armond finally reached Prince Aegon’s tent. Lyonel saw Ser Petyr Shawney stand guard outside the tent along with some other knight he could not recognize. Lyonel sneered when he caught sight of Ser Petyr’s face and bumped into him on purpose as he strode into the tent.  
  
  
When Lyonel entered the tent, he saw that a large table was placed at its centre and the lords were arranged around it. He could see that Ormund Hightower occupied a position to Prince Aegon’s immediate left, but also saw that the seat on Prince Aegon’s right was empty. That must be for him, then. As he walked over to his seat, he passed by the Lady Myrielle Peake and stopped for a moment.  
  
  
“My lady,” Lyonel said courteously and took the hand that was offered to him, placing a kiss on the knuckles. “Might I say how -” Lyonel began.  
  
  
“It would do you no favours to beat around the bush, my lord. I am aware of the nature of the relationship between yourself and my cousin. I am also aware that you wish to take her to wife. If that is why you have come here now, to ask her hand in marriage, well, I cannot in good faith promise the hand of my cousin to a man who is at war,” lady Myrielle said, a severe expression not leaving her face throughout her speech.  
  
  
“But after the war is done…,” Lyonel asked hopefully  
  
  
“Perhaps,” Lady Myrielle said.  
  
  
Lyonel smiled, sure now of his impending marriage and lady Myrielle to had a small smile on her lips upon seeing Lyonel’s own happiness. Lyonel got up and spared a nod to Ser Lucos Caron, lady Myrielle’s husband and made his way over to his seat. As he sat down Armond took up a position standing behind him. Prince Aegon, who had been in deep conversation with Ormund Hightower looked at him as he sat down and offered a hand. Lyonel took it in his own and clasped it.  
  
  
“Well met, my Prince,” Lyonel said, taking care to seem respectful.  
  
  
“And you as well, my lord. I have not had much opportunity to speak with you on this march and for that, you must forgive me,” Prince Aegon said.  
  
  
“Think nothing of it, your grace,” Lyonel said.  
  
  
“Well, now that we all are here, it would be best to get started,” Prince Aegon said and turned to face a huge brute of a man who was standing behind him. “Ser Jon, if you could kindly…,” the Prince said.  
  
  
The huge knight, Ser Jon apparently, leaned forwards and banged his meaty paw on the table a couple of times. With each successive thump, the sound of conversation died out and all of the assembled Reachlords turned as one to face the Prince, who looked at them impassively. Finally, silence was reached and the Prince let this silence linger for a while and Lyonel felt his anticipation increase. There must be some news of import, then.  
  
  
“I have received word from the Lannisters. Lord Loreon, who as most of you must know, has been investing Skyreach on the opposite side of the Pass. And he says that he has credible evidence to believe that the castle has been abandoned, with only a token force left behind.”  
  
  
“In accordance with this, he has asked to be allowed to assault the castle and I have decided to allow for this. Skyreach has the natural advantage of its position and its environment, but the lack of men defending the castle should make his job easy. And then, we come to our dilemma. We have the numbers to assault High Hermitage, of that there is no doubt, but I would hear your inputs all the same,” the Prince concluded. Lyonel cleared his throat and jumped into the discussion before anyone else could speak.  
  
  
“We have to assault it, your grace. We cannot afford to tarry here any longer. The longer we delay, the more time our enemies have to gather their strength to oppose the King. And if we are lucky, even this castle might be abandoned,” Lyonel said, confident in his reply. Ormund Hightower spoke up from Prince Aegon’s other side.  
  
  
“I urge caution, your grace. We have a need to make haste, this I admit, but that does not mean we need to throw men at the walls. We have already lost many men to heat strokes and the rest still have to get used to this heat. Let the Lannister march on, your grace, and you can even go on forward with him. We shall finish this in your name. I will deliver this castle to you personally,” Ormund Hightower said smoothly.  
  
  
Lyonel’s blood boiled. He was the Lord of the Reach, not this Hightower. He would be the one to deliver the castle, not this Hightower. Lyonel started to rise up, to put the Hightower back in his place, but he was held down when Armond put a hand on his shoulder from behind and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.  
  
  
“Let him go. We don’t want the Prince to think that you are not in control of yourself,” Armond whispered and Lyonel leaned backwards taking a few breaths to calm himself down.  
  
  
“Do we know whether the castle is defended at all?” Lady Myrielle spoke up from her position on Lyonel’s right. Lord Godric Florent spoke up.  
  
  
“I have placed my men along the hilltops surrounding the castle. They report signs of heavy activity within the keep and also that the forge seems to be continually at work. They are even arming the servants and the smallfolk who have taken refuge in the castle,” Lord Florent said.  
  
  
“What smallfolk?” Lyonel asked and scoffed. “Haven’t we burned down all the villages and towns on our ways here?”  
  
  
“I’d hardly say that five villages are the sum of them in this path,” Ormund Hightower countered.  
  
  
“Be as it may, the castle appears to be fully defended, if Lord Florent is right,” some Fossoway spoke up. Lyonel should have known his name, seeing as he was his Lyonel’s vassal, but he cared not for such lowly lords.  
  
  
“And fully stocked too. They might not be feasting every day, but they have no dearth of food and their stables are full of Dornish sand steeds, should the food run out,” Lord Florent replied.  
  
  
The Prince leaned forward on the table and steepled hands. He appeared to be in deep thought and the lords around the table fell silent. Then, he looked up and turned to Lord Florent.  
  
  
“Have your men given you any idea of how much opposition we might expect if we were to storm the castle?” the Prince asked. Lord Florent looked up as if in thought and appeared to do some calculations. Lyonel scoffed. A showoff, that’s what Godric Florent was, nothing more nothing less.  
  
  
“Anywhere between a thousand and twelve hundred men, your grace,” Godric Florent said.  
  
  
The lords assembled at the table sucked in a deep breath at that number. A castle of this size should not typically support such a garrison. Something else must be at play.  
  
  
“They must have gotten men and supplies from Starfall or somewhere further south. High Hermitage is no large castle. Its only advantage is its position,” Lyonel said.  
  
  
They were interrupted from any further discussion when the flap of the tent was opened and the other knight guarding the door stepped inside and bowed, to the Prince first and the assembled lords next. The Prince spoke up.  
  
  
“Have you any news, Ser Harrold?” he asked.  
  
  
“A messenger from the castle, my prince. From Ser Vorian Dayne,” the knight, Ser Harrold said.  
  
  
“Very well, send him in,” Prince Aegon said.  
  
  
A susurration of murmurs sprang up around the tent. All of the lords were whispering amongst themselves as to why this messenger would be sent. The Prince appeared to be in deep thought and Lyonel leaned backwards to talk with Armond.  
  
  
“What do you think all of this is about?” Lyonel asked.  
  
  
“I don’t truly know either. Maybe they’ve come to offer surrender?” Armond hypothesized.  
  
  
“Perhaps. If Godric Florent’s numbers are true, then the castle cannot support that many men for long. They’ll eat themselves within a month regardless of how much they’ve stored up,” Lyonel said. There was a rustling near the tent flap and the messenger came in flanked by Ser Harrold and Ser Petyr Shawney.  
  
  
The man who entered was obviously Dornish, though it would be more correct to call him boy than man. If he was skulking around the camp, he would be caught within minutes, so Dornish was he in appearance. Yet, he stood before the assembled lords now, dressed in finery and with nary a care, as if his victory was assured. Lyonel had to applaud him for his confidence at least, for he was within the camp of his enemy and showed no signs of fear. The man spoke.  
  
  
“Hail, Prince Aegon of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros,” the boy said with a smirk. Whispers broke out at this proclamation and Prince Aegon made to reply.  
  
  
“Who are you, messenger, and what message do you bring?” Prince Aegon asked.  
  
  
“I am Ulrick Qorgyle, squire to the master of the castle you are besieging, Ser Vorian Dayne, Sword of the Morning,” he said, pride apparent in his voice.  
  
  
“What message do you bring, lad?” Ormund Hightower asked, apparently not impressed with the boy’s grandstanding. The Qorgyle’s smirk became bloodthirsty at this.  
  
  
“Single combat. For the castle. Your Prince against my master. If you lose, you turn away from this path and not come by with your armies through this Pass once more. This is a duel to the death, of course,” he said.  
  
  
“We could just wait for your men to starve. We have already received word of Lord Alyn Velaryon breaking Planky Town. He should be sailing up and down the Greenblood by now, putting your villages to the torch,” Lyonel pointed out. A brief look of anger passed over the boy’s face but he recovered very well, the smirk back in place within seconds  
  
  
“But no news from your King, I expect. What a fool he was to lead his armies through the Boneway. Even now, I wager that he’s -” the Qorgyle was interrupted by Prince Aegon.  
  
  
“Enough! What if I win against your master? What then?” Prince Aegon asked.  
  
  
“We’ll surrender the castle,” the boy said.  
  
  
“Obviously,” lady Myrielle said, rolling her eyes. “What else? If we are to turn back upon our loss, what would we gain upon our win?”  
  
  
“Ser Vorian has the power to urge Starfall to surrender. You’d never take it without a naval blockade,” the boy said.  
  
  
“But Ser Vorian would be dead if we were to win. How would that work out?” Lyonel pointed out.  
  
  
“He is the Sword of the Morning. His words carry a weight unto themselves,” the boy retorted hotly.  
  
  
“And, that is all? If we lose, we turn back, but if we win, we get two castles?” Ormund Hightower asked.  
  
  
The boy looked desperate. This Vorian Dayne must have sent the boy because he thought he’d be able to convince the Prince to accept single combat. Unless he had something else up his sleeve, Lyonel did not think the Prince would accept. When it appeared that the Prince would send the boy away he spoke up once more.  
  
  
“I am also the heir to Sandstone. I can convince my father to surrender,” he said desperately.  
  
  
“Very well, I accept,” Prince Aegon said immediately.  
  
  
The boy sagged in relief and he was led away by Ser Petyr Shawney. The tent exploded into noise as soon as the boy was outside. Each and everyone had their own opinion to state and wanted to be heard. Ser Jon walked up to the table from behind Prince Aegon and banged on the table loudly. The lords quieted down and Lyonel took his chance.  
  
  
“This is too much of a risk, your grace,” Lyonel said.  
  
  
“I must concur, your grace. If we lose… And Vorian Dayne is a peerless knight and the Sword of the Morning on top of that,” Ormund Hightower said.  
  
  
“And I am a knight as well, lest you forget, my lord. He might be the Sword of the Morning, but I am a Dragon and I lose to no one,” Prince Aegon said with a tone of finality in his voice and Lyonel realized that discussion was fruitless.  
  
  
Prince Aegon called for his squire and a young boy, dressed in the colours of House Ball came forward with Prince Aegon’s armour and weapons. Prince Aegon turned to the assembled lords and stood up, speaking with them all.  
  
  
“My lords, if I may have leave of you, I will put on my armour. Lord Tyrell, please stay behind,” Prince Aegon said.  
  
  
The lords took their leave, bowing and muttering and Lyonel stayed in his seat while the rest of them left. Armond tried to stay with him, but a look from the Prince sent him away. The Prince paid Lyonel no mind for a while as he put on his armour and Lyonel poured some wine in a goblet and sipped it.  
  
  
“Not so tight with the straps, Quentyn,” Prince Aegon said.  
  
  
“Sorry, Ser,” the boy replied.  
  
  
And so on it went as the boy, who Prince Aegon had taken as a squire after meeting up with the Reachmen, helped the Prince into his armour. It took quite a while and Lyonel entertained himself by looking at how the boy failed to help Prince Aegon with his armour. After it was done, Prince Aegon spoke to the boy.  
  
  
“Go with Ser Jon. He will lead you to where my mace is being kept. It will be a hand and a half with Targaryen heraldry etched upon it. The metal will be smoky and rippled, like Valyrian steel. I want you to bring it to me,” Prince Aegon instructed.  
  
  
The boy nodded and ran out of the tent with Ser Jon following on his heels. Prince Aegon chuckled and turned to face Lyonel.  
  
  
“The boy seems very young,” Lyonel said.  
  
  
“Oh, he’s twelve or so. I chose him because I wanted a younger squire. But I digress. Let us get to what I asked you to stay behind for,” the Prince said.  
  
  
“Of course, your grace,” Lyonel replied.  
  
  
“I want you to send an archer of yours over to the Dornish side. Someone you trust. Do so after my duel has started and both sides have gathered to face each other. Should I die, have the archer shoot an arrow at me and shout ‘Treachery!’ Then, take the castle by storm,” Prince Aegon said a serious expression on his face  
  
  
“Of course, your grace! I am glad you have a contingency in place” Lyonel replied with relief. He was glad that the Prince had not abandoned common sense. Then a seed of an idea took root in his mind and he bowed to Prince Aegon before taking his leave. Lyonel left the tent in a hurry and he caught a glimpse of young Quentyn Ball carrying Prince Aegon’s heavy mace into the tent just as he left.  
  
  
Lyonel made his way over to his tent and the guard posted outside saluted sharply as he entered but Lyonel paid them no mind. Inside Sam and Armond were both sitting in chairs and drinking wine. He walked over to them and they looked up at his approach. Armond spoke up.  
  
  
“So, why did the Prince ask you to stay behind?” Armond asked.  
  
  
“He had a plan in case he were to die fighting. Don’t let anyone else know about this. I want to maintain the element of surprise,” Lyonel said.  
  
  
“Well, if you say so,” Armond said, though he did not seem very convinced.  
  
  
“I do,” Lyonel said and turned to face Sam. “You are the best archer I know, Sam, and I have a task for you. One of the utmost importance. Will you do it for me?” Lyonel asked, his tone turning serious.  
  
  
“Of course, my lord,” Sam said as he stood up and bowed, realizing the gravity of the situation.  
  
  
“Very well. This is what I need you to do,” Lyonel said and launched into his own explanation of what he wanted Samwell Rowan to do. However, after he had relayed all of Prince Aegon’s instructions to Sam, he added a few more of his own.  
  
  
“If you have the opportunity to do so after the duel is done, I want you to get Dawn for me. Do not be seen and do not be found out,” Lyonel instructed.  
  
  
“Of course, my lord. I can disguise myself. I will not let you down,” Sam said and bowed and left.  
  
  
“Do you think he’ll be able to do it?” Armond asked.  
  
  
“I know of no better archer. I can only hope he won’t be discovered,” Lyonel said.  
  
  
“And Dawn? Was it necessary?” Armond asked.  
  
  
“You have to take opportunities as they present themselves,” Lyonel said simply. Armond nodded and both of them put on their own armour and made their way out of their tent and towards the edge of the camp where all the lords had gathered.  
  
  
Prince Aegon looked splendid in his armour. It was black enamelled steel with rubies in the shape of a Targaryen dragon adorning its breastplate. His helm had a dragon taking flight upon it and its wings covered his face. He stood with the helm in his hand and his mace in another and in that moment, Lyonel could see the man who had spent seven years fighting war after war after in Essos.  
  
  
Vorian Dayne and his party were coming down the hilly slope upon which High Hermitage stood and Lyonel got his first look at the Sword of the Morning. He had foregone plate armour in favour of scale mail and wore a pointed helm on his head. As he got closer, Lyonel saw that he had the typical Dornish colouring, with dusky skin and dark hair, but when he came near their own party, Lyonel noticed his eyes which were a shade of lilac. Very peculiar.  
  
  
Vorian Dayne had a septon with him alongside his squire, two other knights in Dayne colours and a score of men. Lyonel searched the men’s faces and a small pit of dread settled in Lyonel’s stomach when he saw that Sam was not a part of Ser Vorian’s group Both the parties stood and faced each other without speaking for quite some time and then Ser Vorian Dayne spoke.  
  
  
“I understand that my squire has informed you of the conditions under which this duel us to be performed?” Ser Vorian asked.  
  
  
“Yes. Let us get this over with,” Prince Aegon said and put on his helm, striding forward.  
  
  
The men on both sides went back to create space for the combatants to fight. Then the septon came forwards and blessed both of the fighters and asked the Father to provide them entry into heaven should either of them fall in battle. He then led a prayer to the Warrior, which both the Prince and Ser Vorian recited dutifully. After that, he ran away as far as he could to the Dornish contingent.  
  
  
Prince Aegon and Ser Vorian circled each other, the duel having begun as soon as their prayer had ended. Each of them sent a few blows swinging towards the other in wide arcs, feeling out their opponent. Lyonel marvelled at the sight of Dawn, the pale sword catching the light of the evening sun and turning a blood-red colour as if it had been stained in the blood of its adversaries.  
  
  
Then, there was a flurry of movement and Lyonel hastened to pay attention. Ser Vorian thrust his sword forward with both of his hands and nearly skewered Prince Aegon. Dawn scraped upon Prince Aegon’s breastplate as he jumped to the side at the last moment and quite a few of the rubies on his breastplate were knocked loose. However, this left Ser Vorian overextended and Prince Aegon wasted no time, bringing his mace around and glancing a blow on Ser Vorian’s shoulders which forced him to drop Dawn. Lyonel’s heart leapt to his mouth. This was it, the fight was over.  
  
  
Only, it wasn’t. Ser Vorian was not the Sword of the Morning for nothing. He took the dagger he wore at his hip and slipped inside Prince Aegon’s guard, fast as a viper and struck downwards. The blade must have hit something, for Prince Aegon gave out a cry of pain and dropped his own mace. When Ser Vorian withdrew his dagger, it’s tip was stained in blood. Lyonel’s heart sank. The loss would not be devastating, of course. He could lead the army to victory, it was the principle of the matter that was important.  
  
  
But, Prince Aegon recovered remarkably. He drew his own dagger in a flash and blocked an overhead strike with his arm and in the same moment plunged his dagger into the gap between Ser Vorian’s helmet and twisted. And with that, the fight was finally over. Ser Vorian dropped to the ground and twitched once, twice, thrice and stilled, even as his blood pooled around him staining the red sands. The man’s squire ran over to kneel beside him, tears in his eyes even as the other knights who had come with Ser Vorian came forth to kneel at Prince Aegon’s feet.  
  
  
Then, someone from behind Lyonel called out loudly.  
  
  
“Hail, Prince Aegon, the Dragonknight!”  
  
  
“Prince Aegon!”  
  
  
“The Dragonknight! The Dragonknight!”  
  
  
“Hail the Dragonknight!”  
  
  
As people around and behind him cheered and shouted their jubilation, Lyonel searched frantically for Sam. Had he sent his friend to his death, just because he wanted a damned sword? Lyonel did not know and he was afraid to find out.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, this begins or Dornish war. Or rather, we’re smack dab in the middle of it. We will also get different POV chapters throughout the war in all of its theatres. So, stay tuned and please give me some feedback. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback.


	17. Aegon IV

Early 160 AC, Sandstone  
  
 ** _Aegon_**  
  
By killing Ser Vorian Dayne in single combat, Aegon had, on paper, conquered most of Western Dorne. In reality, the matter was quite different. Sandstone had fallen quickly enough after Ulrick Qorgyle had been produced in front of its gates. Aegon had thought that it had fallen too quickly but looking too deeply into the nature of its surrender did not hold his interest at the moment.  
  
Aegon had been forced to leave a sixth of his army to garrison Starfall, High Hermitage and Skyreach. They were not castles he’d trust to hold their allegiance and these Dornish were even more untrustworthy than the sort he dealt with in Essos. The peasant levy garrisoning High Hermitage had also been absorbed into his own force. He couldn’t trust them back in their own lands nor could he let them return to their homes. Aegon had his men burn down their villages after all.  
  
This left with him another headache. The men he had taken from High hermitage had been smallfolk from the lands surrounding the Prince’s Pass. Even the smallfolk from all the way near Kingsgrave were sequestered in High Hermitage. It certainly explained why all the villages they burned down were empty. What happened to the lord and lady of Kingsgrave however, Aegon still had no idea. The castle was empty and while Skyreach still had its lord in the empty castle after the Lannister had taken it, Kingsgrave as suspiciously empty save for the token force meant to fool them. This worried Aegon.  
  
Even now, sitting in the Lord’s Solar in Sandstone, Aegon was indecisive. It was very bad to do so in a war, he knew. Yet, his worries plagued him all the same. His instincts told him to fortify his position. What he had effectively occupied made up almost half the landed gentry in Dorne. After the Greenblood, the Torrentine supported the highest population in Dorne. Most of the landed knights of Dorne came from here, after all.  
  
Aegon knew he should trust his cousin to pass through the Boneway. He had the larger army of the two. Still, Aegon could not help but worry. All of his experience told him that he had done his part in the war. He should ensure now that those he had conquered did not rise up against him before the war was finished. He knew he should wait for news of Daeron’s inevitable victory to reach him. His work was done.  
  
Aegon was jerked out of his musings when the door to the solar opened and Quentyn Ball walked in carrying a bottle of Qorgyle’s finest Dornish red. A servant followed him carrying a few goblets on a golden platter. Ser Jon Harte and Lord Loreon Lannister followed behind.  
  
Aegon watched in silence as Quentyn put the bottle of wine on the table in front of Aegon. The servant then set the platter on the table as well and started pouring the wine into the golden goblets. Aegon waited until her work was done and took a goblet in his hands. He sipped at the wine a little. It was very strong in its flavour and rather bitter too. Aegon found that he liked its taste as it went down his throat.  
  
Jon and Lannister were still standing at his attention and Aegon liked them for that. Lannister knew his place at least, unlike the ponce Tyrell. That was why Aegon had left him back at High Hermitage. He could not bear his presence for too long, he had found.  
  
“Sit,” Aegon said, motioning towards the seats on the opposite side of the table.  
  
They took their seats and Aegon took another sip of his wine, enjoying its taste. Jon and Lannister took a goblet of wine from the platter. There was a fourth on the platter which the servant haad filled too. Aegon had no doubt that Quentyn was the reason that the fourth goblet was on the platter in the first place. Sure enough, the lad tried to reach for it from his place standing beside Aegon. Aegon swatted his hand away and his squire slunk back, scowling. Lannister let out a quiet chuckle.  
  
Aegon let it die out and still spoke nothing, opting the study the goblet in his hand. It was wrought in gold. The engravings upon the surface of the goblet showed a sun surrounded by scorpions on either side. The Qorgyles were very loyal to the Martells, it seemed to have these around so casually.  
  
As the silence continued, Aegon could almost feel it grow heavy. Quentyn began to fidget in his position unused to this silence. Aegon cast a look at Jon and Lannister.  
  
Jon was as placid as ever, his face the surface of a still lake, betraying nothing. As he should be. Aegon knew Jon very well and Jon knew him even better in turn. He was used to the way Aegon conducted his meetings. Lannister not so much. He hid it well but the tightening of his grip around the goblet in his hands told Aegon enough about it irritation at being silent, like an errant child before his lord father.  
  
This silence was time enough and Aegon finally spoke.  
  
“Tell me news of the war,” he said simply.  
  
Lannister spoke first.  
  
“We received a rider from Lord Lyonel,” Lannister began. “He asks for more men to control the region.”  
  
“No,” Aegon replied.  
  
“We split the army to ensure that Lord Tyrell had more men than he actually required. This is no time to try and bolster his own numbers and improve his situation. His men and his lords are still needed with the army. We are yet to take Hellholt and crossing the Red Desert is very perilous,” Jon replied in Aegon’s stead, explaining his mind to Lannister.  
  
“Indeed,” Aegon continued. “In the reply you send to him, if you deign to even send one at all, remind him of how his own ancestor lost an army of nigh on forty thousand in the Red Sands near to a century ago.”  
  
“Of course, your grace,” Lannister said.  
  
“Any news from the Western Front?” Aegon asked, drumming his fingers against the hard wood of the table in front of him.  
  
“The last news, as your grace knows, was of Lord Alyn breaking Planky Town and sailing up the Greenblood, putting settlements to the torch. If all goes well, mercenaries from Essos should have landed and started taking the keeps of the landed knights surrounding the Greenblood,” Lannister said.  
  
“They are no mere mercenaries, my lord of Lannister,” Aegon said. “They are mine own Company. They’ll do what has been asked of them.”  
  
Lannister nodded in response and Aegon got the distinct impression that he didn’t really care what would happen to those men one way or the other. He was about to say something regarding that matter but stopped himself. Aegon had no need to play around at being friends with the Lannister. Why should he care if Lannister disrespected his men? They were too far away to care either. So he kept mum and let the silence stretch on once more, opting to sip at his wine once more.  
  
Once he had drained his goblet, Aegon motioned for Quentyn to fill it once more. He then spoke again.  
  
“Any news of Lys or Braavos?” Aegon asked.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Ser Jon answered and Lannister looked rather disinterested instead opting to observe the engravings upon his own goblet. Aegon wondered if he would come to the same conclusion about Qorgyle’s loyalties. The man had given up his castle with minimal fuss and he had been very accomodating to Aegon since his arrival. He had even given up his own solar and bedchambers eagerly for Aegon. Perhaps, a bit too eagerly. Aegon dismissed those thoughts for another time and turned his attention to Jon who had begun speaking.  
  
“I received word from Ser Denys Bracken, my prince. They have indeed landed, as Lord Lannister predicted,” Jon said. He was about to say more when he was interrupted by Lannister.  
  
“And a messenger reached you through the war?” Lannister asked.  
  
“We in the Company know how to send messengers through the theatre of war, my lord. It becomes a necessity,” Jon explained. Aegon felt his irritation spike at this interruption and it must have shown on his face. Lannister was about to ask another question but stopped after catching a look from Aegon.  
  
“Go on, Jon,” Aegon said.  
  
“By the time the Company left Essos, the war between Lys and Tyrosh had gone into a stalemate. As you well know, my prince, the Lyseni are loath to give up an advantage and they’ve fortified themselves after gaining just a little land. The Tyroshi are just as reticent to attack without any backup,” Jon said.  
  
“What of Braavos?” Aegon asked, feeling the stirring of hatred deep in his gut.  
  
“Their civil war hasn’t been resolved yet, but the Braavosi fleet with all of its sailors is in one piece and on the seas, my prince. Their High Admiral withdrew from the city and claimed to pledge allegiance to the Sealord, whomever that ends up being,” Jon said.  
  
“Did neither Pentos or Myr make any moves towards Braavos?” Aegon asked.  
  
“Pentos did, my prince. They managed to reclaim the Andal coastline but their attempts at reaching further north are being rebuffed by the Braavosi navy. And with winter about to set in, going that far north doesn’t seem to be in their agenda,” Jon concluded.  
  
“Gods dammit!” Aegon whispered to himself. He had been counting on the civil war in Braavos to push them towards defeat but this was too little of a loss to soothe his anger. His grip on the goblet in his hand tightened and he could feel it give under the pressure, bending inwards.  
  
Aegon stood up suddenly and set the goblet down on the table, trying to control his anger. At his sudden motion, Quentyn, who had been dozing off in his position behind Aegon suddenly jerked awake as if he was slapped.  
  
“Se- My lo-, ah, your grace! What need have you of me?” he asked, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been sleeping.  
  
Aegon chuckled, his anger forgotten.  
  
“Go on. Run along to the yard and find Ser Petyr Shawney. He’ll have some work for you. Maybe he’ll have you spar someone,” Aegon said.  
  
Excitement writ itself quickly upon Quentyn’s face and Aegon smiled as he practically ran out of the room. Aegon turned to face Jon and Lannister again.  
  
“How goes the preparations for our movement to Hellholt, my lord?” Aegon asked.  
  
“We are as ready as we can ever be, your grace,” Lannister responded carefully. “Barring any unforeseen circumstances preventing, the King should have crossed the Boneway by now. It has been near to a moon’s turn since our own victory at High Hermitage. We are sure to receive any news of the King once we take Hellholt either way.”  
  
Aegon nodded and turned to face Jon.  
  
“Has this messenger for Ser Denys any news of the King, Jon?” Aegon asked.  
  
“No, my prince. He was sent from the Company to us as soon as they landed. If anything of note has happened after he left, he has no knowledge of it,” Jon said.  
  
Aegon hummed in reply and walked over to the window, looking outside while stroking his beard. He looked down and he could see the yard. He made out the form of Quentyn who had just entered the yard. Aegon could just barely make out that Quentyn had a padded gambeson in Qorgyle colours on and he was lugging around a wooden mace that must have weighed at least half of his own weight.  
  
Aegon amusement rose as the figure of what was unmistakeably Ser Petyr sent Quentyn away pointing to the armoury, no doubt admonishing the boy at his choice of weapon. To Aegon’s further amusement, Quentyn instead stood his ground refusing to go back. He then tried to swing the mace around, perhaps to convince Ser Petyr that he could handle it. He failed miserably not even managing to lift it to his waist. Aegon chuckled at the sight. If Quentyn wanted to wield a mace, Aegon would have to ensure he had the muscle to do so first. It was his duty, after all.  
  
“By your leave, your grace, I shall go and ensure that the last of the preparations are finished,” Lannister said, from behind Aegon.  
  
Aegon waved his hand absently and the shuffling of clothes told him that Lannister had bowed and the sound of the door opening and closing told Aegon of his departure. Still facing the window, he spoke.  
  
“Tell me, Jon. What does he think of me? And what does his army think of me?” Aegon asked.  
  
“He doesn’t really like you, my prince. Or rather, he loves you not. But I am sure he also does not hate you,” Jon said. “If you need him for any plot though, I doubt he’d be receptive.”  
  
“No. I have no _need_ for him. What plots could I hatch? I have everything I need. Plotting with him won’t bring my brother back,” Aegon said.  
  
“Perhaps he could support you if you take the notion of a war against the Braavosi to you cousin,” Jon replied.  
  
“True. True. But our present war has not yet ended. By the time we will have put down the inevitable Dornish rebellion, any goodwill I have with the Lannister would have evaporated. If I had some way of getting him in my debt, I could be assured of his co-operation,” Aegon said.  
  
“Of course, my prince. The Lannisters always pay their debts,” Jon said.  
  
Whatever Aegon might have said in reply was cut short when someone knocked on the door. A servant then poked her head in and looked at Aegon. He waved for her to come in.  
  
“The Lord Qorgyle is here to see you, m’lord,” she said.  
  
“Of course. It does not behove us to let him wait out sided his own solar. Let him in,” Aegon ordered.  
  
The servant bowed and went. Lord Doran Qorgyle walked in. He was a portly man and very jovial with who were essentially his enemies. Now that he had seen the goblets, Aegon was looking at the lord intently, hoping to find some hidden treachery within his eyes. He found none. If the man was at least disgruntled at being forced to wait for permission outside his own solar, he didn’t show it, or he hid it very well.  
  
“Your grace!” the Qorgyle began. “I have news!”  
  
“News of what?” Aegon asked, rather blunt, hoping to provoke the man.  
  
Qorgyle continued, taking no slight at Aegon’s tone.  
  
“The King, of course,” he replied grandly. “Old Qoren Martell has bent the knee!”  
  
Suspicion and relief warred for dominance in Aegon’s heart. He wanted to belive this man, but he could not. Not without proof.  
  
“And how have you come by this news, my lord?” Jon asked.  
  
“Why, a rider arrived just now and with him was a letter from the King signed in both his name and that of Qoren Martell. All of the Dornish lords are to present themselves at Sunspear to pay homage to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,” Qorgyle said.  
  
Throughout all this, the smile never left Qorgyle’s face and Aegon could almost believe that Qorgyle had wanted Daeron to win.  
  
“There is also a missive concerning you personally, your grace,” Qorgyle continued. He reached into within his voluminous robes and withdrew a sealed scroll and handed it over to Aegon.  
  
Aegon observed the seal. It was from Daeron’s signet ring. If this had fallen into the hands of the Dornish, then all was lost anyway. And it could not be a forgery. Daeron used his signet only for his most private communications. The seal was true. Or at least, it was a very good imitation of the truth. He was breaking the seal on the scroll when Qorgyle spoke up.  
  
“By your leave, your grace, I shall have to attend to the preparations to leave for Sunspear,” Qorgyle said.  
  
Aegon waved his hand in assent and Qorgyle bowed and left. Aegon opened up the letter and skimmed through it. It was certainly in Daeron’s hand and that brought relief to him. He turned to Jon.  
  
“Did he appear irritated when I sent him away with just a gesture?” Aegon asked.  
  
“No, my prince. He bowed and left, smiling all through it,” Jon replied.  
  
“One could almost believe him to be a simpering fool of a lord,” Aegon said.  
  
Jon said nothing but merely nodded his head. Aegon read through the letter once more and nodded. He knew what to do.  
  
“Jon, tell Lord Lannister to ready the men. We leave with Qorgyle. He is to take Hellholt’s surrender and join us in Sunspear. Send a missive to Lord Tyrell as well. He should have gotten the King’s proclamation. He is to join us here with the highborn prisoners. They’ll have pay homage to the King,” Aegon said, stroking his beard.  
  
“Yes, my prince,” Jon said. He bowed and left the room.  
  
Aegon looked at Jon’s retreating form and wondered out loud.  
  
“How many men must Daeron have lost to have taken Sunspear so quickly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, here it is, the next chapter! I know I've taken a long hiatus but it was due to some real-life things. I'm glad to say all is well now and that with this self-isolation/quarantine I can focus on this a lot more. I don't think I can match my earlier one chapter per day, but I'll see how stuff goes.
> 
> And as always, do tell me how the chapter is. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback. Thanks for reading!


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